Sparks in the Parkz
by Insomniazzz
Summary: Furrball and Fifi find that married life isn't as bad as they say it is. Although raising a former juvenile delinquent with a checkered past is definitely no walk in the park.
1. Runnin' on Empty

Furrball Saga Re-cap ***Spoiler ahead***

_If you're new to the series, it's probably not the best idea to start by reading this guy, but anyways, welcome! If it's been a while, let's get ya back up to speed, shall we? In __Dawn Sarang__, Furrball and Fifi decided to date and after meeting an old friend at a class reunion, Dizzy took the couple to New Zealand, to a Juvenile Hall he worked at where a belligerent street cat was about to be released for the 13th time or so. Furrball decided to adopt the one-pawed cat, and upon arriving back in the states in __Musul and Marriage__, after quite a few hiccups and a new TV show, Fifi and Furrball tied the knot! Obviously there's more to it, but anyways, without further adieu, 'tis time for our feature presentation. That wasn't actually a spoiler if you read in order, was it? Should I have just put 'possible spoiler' ahead?_

Sparks in the Parkz – Domingo Insomniazzz

_-Uno-_

The vast majority of the time, he didn't really think about it, but there were definitely certain instances when Sparkz longed for his missing paw. _Professor Sly_ had done a fantastic job of getting him used to not trying to feel it, and compensating with his remaining paw without straining it too much, which had been his major issue in the past. His buddy, Tres, had gotten him hooked on his latest obsession, which offered him the opportunity to express himself without stuttering. Even if he wasn't actually speaking his mind, the act of articulation and his intonation allowed for some release he couldn't get from destroying something with his claws.

_Que me gusta se gusta _

_Muerto__ mi Samba_

_Y tambien yo bebo refrescos a canta_

"Don't stop on my account."

Taking a seat at the foot of his young charge's bed, the blue cat's fur caught the sunlight in the oddest way making his color appear almost gray, matching his son's. The very presence of another being caused the youth to tense up and conceal his bongos under the covers, wiping off some nervous sweat for good measure.

Furrball didn't take offense to this. Sparkz was simply starting to hit _that_ age. Of course he wanted nothing more than to encourage the kitten's creative output, but speculated that too much goading would result in results in direct opposition to the older cat's intentions. Sparkz had been a bit more despondent in public than usual recently. The elder feline had noticed two days ago at the cast party, wrapping up season three of their hit TV show that Sparkz hadn't said a single word to anyone, despite his strides of progress in verbal communication.

The older cat's thoughts were interrupted as Sparkz swiped his bongos causing them to crash to the floor, splitting the instrument in two. Furrball sighed, picking up the pieces. It was quite obvious, the problem. He hadn't really noticed it before, as Sparkz had built up his defenses so well in public, that his compensation went generally unnoticed. Ever since he'd brought the kitten the drums, Sparkz had been obsessed with them, trying his level best to get the rhythm he desired out of them. This made sense, though. The kitten wasn't frustrated at his slow progress, but the fact that he was left-handed. This wouldn't have posed as much of a problem after the 19th century were it not for the fact that the stub where his paw should have been was lacking in the flexibility department, making it significantly slower and impossible for him to synchronize his beats.

"Rick Allen had this problem at first, too."

Sparkz's ears perked, but he refused to inquire, wanting to stew in his rage a while longer.

"But he lost his right arm."

Furrball got up to leave, hoping the younger cat would meditate on this. Just as he made it to the door, the kitten spoke up.

"_Era su brazo izquierdo_."

The blue feline turned to see Sparkz pointing to the appropriate limb. His expression, much like his voice masked any feeling he might have had.

"His left arm," the younger cat whispered. Furrball said nothing as he closed the door behind him.

"Ah, _mon bougie_, there you are!"

The blue cat stopped in his tracks. The temperature always seemed to feel a bit warmer when his love used her native tongue. As a sly grin spread across the feline's face, he arched upward, in a classic pouncing stance. The purple skunk backed up a few steps, feigning fear.

"No! _Ne pense même pas à ce sujet_!" Fifi squealed. "Don't even think about it, mister!"

But the warning was a bit too late, and would've fallen on deaf ears anyway as Furrball gently tackled his 'prey' to the sofa, causing the two to catch a bit of hang time as the cushions sprung to life. Fifi was something of an acrobat, herself and managed to flip to the higher position, pinning Furrball to the carpet as they landed in a fit of giggles.

"_C'est dire_!" the skunk managed between laughs. "Give up already!"

The cat looked at Fifi as if she were crazy.

"And make _you _get off of _me_? Please. I'm quite comfortable here, thank you very much," he winked. His wife groaned, slugging him in the shoulder as she let him up. It was no fun when he clearly wanted it.

"So how was work?"

Fifi sighed rolling her eyes as she dusted herself off. Her hours had increased significantly over the past month due to cuts going left and right at the magazine.

"They'd better pick me for the Marseille job, I swear!" she breathed, her eyes narrowing to thin, fierey slits.

"Sparkz'd get a kick out of that opera house, for sure." Furrball added, joining his wife at the table.

"I was thinking he'd be more into the French hip hop scene there," the skunk remarked with a smirk. Furrball grinned silently agreeing.

"Oh, I think you wrinkled it."

"What?" Fifi inquired, cocking her head.

Pulling a bent envelope out of his front pocket, the cat handed it to Fifi as her eyes quickly scanned the 'from' address.

"_Mon Dieu_!" she exclaimed, thrusting the envelope back into her husband's paw. "You open it! I can't!"

Furrball frowned disdainfully. "You know I can't read medical talk."

"You're hopeless!" Fifi sighed, opening the letter, reading it intently as the cat waited anxiously to hear some good news. Fifi's puzzling expression did nothing to alleviate his anticipation, though something told him not to rush her. When the skunk was finished, she quietly folded the letter up and stuffed it back into the envelope.

"…so?"

"Two things," Fifi's tone indicated things were serious. "One, I don't have any squirrel DNA whatsoever. Whoever that was, he wasn't my dad."

"Oh." Furrball was clueless as to how he was meant to take such news. He offered his paw to stop hers from trembling. She squeezed it softly and all of a sudden, the trembling was over.

"And," she sang, holding the word for emphasis. She leaned in, placing her lips near one of the cat's pointy ears. "It's possible. 30% chance."

Furrball immediately embraced Fifi, holding her close to him as he laughed heartily. The very prospect of having offspring was oddly enough a comfort and a hope he hadn't even realized that he'd longed for.

"Guess we're gonna have to try extra hard, eh?" he breathed, purring softly.

"Try what? ¿_Qué paso_?"

The couple straightened up, creating a bit of distance, giving their son a couple of goofy grins as he eyed them suspiciously from the threshold.

-_Dos_-

Even as a blast of cool air from the supermarket's A/C hit him, Furrball could still feel beads of sweat on his brow from the recent turn of events. He'd promised his wife years ago that he'd never have any more secrets and that was supposed to be extended to their son, but this was complicated. He was young, might not understand, might take things the wrong way…

_What's happened to me?_ The cat mused in his native tongue. He was acting just like a normal grownup, complicating things to the point where it was too hard to see the truth beyond all the B.S.

"_D'alors! C'est_ Furrball, no?"

The cat snapped to attention as he stood before one half of what was once the most controversial couple of the small screen. Ever the performer, Pepe was decked out in lavish attire akin to Don Giovanni himself. Hardly suited for shopping for groceries, yet the absence of anything but wine and steak in his cart made his clothing almost befitting.

The skunk squeezed the cat's shoulder, smiling as he watched the focus finally return to Furrball's eyes.

"How are you,_ jeune erudite_?"

"D-doing good," the cat managed, find his voice, surprising himself by his heightened sense of alertness all of a sudden. He didn't really have any reason to fear Pepe, and yet…

"Your serial premieres on Wednesday, _n'est pas_?

"No," Furrball stammered, "That is… y-yes, season three starts Wednesday at 8!"

"You know it's good timing that we would be seeing each other so suddenly," Pepe brushed the hair out of his eyes, grinning his trademark smile. "It's about your _fils_, uh how you say, your son."

Furrball's apprehension was immediately replaced with interest. Sparkz tended to stay around the house when he wasn't filming and hadn't met many celebrities, including the infamous skunk.

"You see, Pénélope, she's an assistant at an old colleague's place of business." Pepe nudged Furrball before continuing. "You and I both know we don't need the money, but she's so _têtu_… headstrong, you know?"

The feline said nothing, anxiously waiting for the point. Pepe's eyes roamed the aisles a few times, scanning the local ladies, but the cat's stare compelled him to focus again.

"_Oui_, so, here is a business card, I think you should go pay your old science teacher a visit then, no?" Pepe handed Furrball the business card and before the cat could read it, the skunk was on the trail of a random target who'd just disappeared into the juice aisle. Scratching his head, Furrball studied the card. Wile E., of course. He could barely phonetically sound out "Bio-genetic Prosthesis", much less comprehend the meaning of the words put together. Putting the card in his wallet, he mentally counted down to hear the inevitable commotion as the mystery lady expressed her disapproval of the skunk's hackneyed compliments. The cat excused himself from the supermarket quickly. He'd forgotten what he went in for anyway.

_-Tres-_

It wasn't as if they were doing anything wrong, but Fifi simply couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something just wasn't right. She had initially given up the very idea of having a child when she made her vows at the altar. Hybrids, regardless of their parents' status typically had more medical problems than 'purebreds' and the social ramifications could be downright hostile in certain situations… or areas. Of course, there was always Sparkz to contend with… he might take exception to the fact that his adoptive parents even wanted an addition to the family, but Furrball had been adamant about the mentality of one that was raised in a street family having no such domestic sensitivity. Of course, the other positive was there would be no litter to contest with, as they could typically only produce once and 99% of cases were a single offspring.

"Universe to Fifi, come in Fifi."

The purple skunk looked up, her cheeks turning a shade of red as she noticed a good portion of her ice cream had melted off the cone and onto the table. Shirley wiped off the mess with a napkin, sensitive to her old friend's concerns. Had Plucky not screwed things up… _twice_, she might very well be in a similar situation.

"Hey, you wanna like, go to the mall and check out the new tablets or somethin'?"

The skunk had to laugh, hearing the blonde mallard use her thespian Valley accent from their school days. It'd been years since she'd spoken like that and was a great method of getting Fifi's mind off of things.

"How about just…" Fifi thought for a moment as her friend's expression sullened. "You know I've been meaning to see the difference between that new HP and the Samsung."

Shirley was no loon; she could tell it was forced. Being the best friend that she was, however, she made no indication of her knowledge as they left the ice cream shop.

Shopping was little comfort. With her husband and son clearly in the spotlight these days, this generally brought the paparazzi out in droves whenever she made a public appearance. Fortunately, today was a rare exception for whatever reason. Years ago, she had actually craved to be back on the silver screen, but after years of soul-searching, she realized her real love was for literature. Freelancing for _Elle_ Magazine paid the bills and got her recognized, but, even unbeknownst to her hubby, she was also working on her novel, a horror story of all things, that she'd been writing since before she could recall.

"So what about the Galaxy?"

Fifi looked up. It took a moment to register where she was and get her bearings. Shirley and the salesman, an enormous collie with a horrible mullet were waiting for her to mentally rejoin them.

"Y-yeah, why not?" the skunk forced a smile, picking the tablet up. _Why not?_

Outside the mall, Shirley's phone began vibrating. Her blood ran cold as she looked at the caller ID.

"Old flame?" her friend queried.

"More like 'ancient bonfire'. When is Fowlmouth gonna take a hint?"

"Aw, _c'est tellement mignon!_ So cute!" Fifi squealed, happy to finally have a mental distraction. Shirley rolled her eyes, obviously not amused in the least bit as she waited for the vibrating to cease.

"He's impossible to talk to. Speaks so fast I can't understand him anyway. And his stutter…oh you wouldn't understand…" the duck frowned, realizing in mid-sentence that the two had been on opposite ends of this very conversation not so long ago.

"Why don't you give him a chance… a real one, this time?"

"He just…"

"Oh." Fifi looked away, her sudden realization making her feel a bit awkward.

"What 'oh'?" Shirley eyed her friend suspiciously, her intuition kicking into overdrive.

"It's nothing…" Fifi tried, feebly, knowing that wouldn't cut it at all.

"Nothing but…"

"There's still a part of you that…you know?"

"Likes _him_." Shirley finished the skunk's sentence, letting her off the hook. It was true. There was no denying that she and Plucky were compatible. Of course, there **was **such thing as being **too **perfectly matched and that had been their problem. Part of Shirley wished it had been a nasty break up. It might have been easier to move on then, And yet…

"Why don't we meet next week? See that new Spielberg flick, 'kay?" Shirley forced a smile as she took off for her car. Fifi knew better than to follow.

"Okay, see you!" she called as soon as Shirley was out of earshot. She felt a lump of guilt in her throat, having spent the day mulling over her issues, while Shirley spent the majority of her time trying not to think of her own. Ah, the frustrations of the silent self-commentary.

**_-More to Follow! Thanks for reading! Please review :D -_**


	2. The 60,000,000,000 Dollar Cat

-Cuatro-

"I was thinking," Furrball managed the words mid-yawn, causing his wife to lower her tablet for a moment.

"Two things, actually." The cat grinned slyly, kissing her before she could venture a guess based on his expression.

"I think you'd have saved a bundle if you just bought a Sudoku book instead of that thing," the cat grinned.

Fifi rolled her eyes. Shopping was the one thing the two never agreed on. It seemed as if all of Furrball's possessions were at newest, third-hand. Off the top of her head, Fifi couldn't recall one item Furrball seemed to particularly fancy, save his violin.

"Wouldn't do me much good to get a used one, now would it, _mon_ _avare_?"

Furrball couldn't speak a word of French, but he knew she was playing with him when she used that particular nickname. He'd surmised that it was a synonym for 'stingy', but he didn't mind the sentiment.

"And the second thing?"

"Hmm?"  
>"What was the other thing you were thinking?"<p>

Furrball blinked, feeling his mind drift onto other things for a moment. It hit him when he laid his head down again.

"Mini fridge!"

The skunk was confused by this little revelation. "Excuse me?" she inquired.

"They should make a mini fridge that can fit pillows."

"…what?"

"So there's always gonna be the cool side of the pillow waiting for you!"

"And you're talking about _me_ wasting money?" Fifi playfully struck the cat with her pillow, not realizing her own strength as Furrball rolled off the bed onto the hardwood floor.

"Are you alrigh-" Fifi peered over the side of the bed to find that the blue cat had disappeared. Before she could make sense of this mystery, she felt warm breath on her neck.

"We gotta save every penny if we're adding to the clan."

The cat's whisper in her ear sent tingles up Fifi's spine causing involuntary spasms. Reaching over her right shoulder, the skunk gripped the foreign fur and yanked forward, sending Furrball flying over her shoulder straight back down to the mattress.

Furrball rubbed his head as he tried to stop the stars from circling overhead. Apparently time hadn't softened his wife's old Judo skills. Before he could sit up, he felt a weight on his knees going towards his upper torso. It hadn't taken the feline long to realize that whatever restraint Fifi had learned to exercise in public when it came to her affections was not actually lost, but rather concentrated into her actions behind closed doors. The cat grinned as they locked eyes.

Not that he was complaining.

_-Cinco-_

"You're gonna strip the gears if you don't hit the clutch first! One, then two, _then _three, alright?" She wasn't exactly sure how to convey alarm and tact at the same time without nagging. Of course, he'd have no choice but to forgive her. After all, this _was_ pretty serious.

Furrball lurched forward, nearly chipping a fang on the steering column as he stalled for the fourth time. Thankfully they were at a stoplight.

"Maybe this weekend, 'kay?"

Fifi had no chance to react as Furrball slipped into the back seat with their son, ducking behind the kitten as Fifi swung her purse at him for giving up. Of course, she had no real time to complain as the light was about to change and ended up hopping into the driver's seat just in time. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, the skunk smacked her husband in the face with her tail as soon as he emerged from behind his feline shield.

"_¡__Qué vergüenz__!"_ Sparkz sighed, avoiding eye contact with his father. "How embarrassing."

The scene reminded Fifi of Sylvester Jr. and she barely stifled a laugh imagining a paper bag over their son's head. Furrball grinned as well, sharing her thoughts as they turned into a large parking garage.

…

"Well hello there, little fella!"

It actually took Sparkz a few moments to realize that _he_ was the one being spoken to. The security guard was a behemoth of a gentleman and had the kitten not known better, he'd have sworn that the man was too tall to see him.

_Don't be rude. Say something, a'ight?_

Not particularly in the mood to test his father's patience, Sparkz waved his bandage at the man and flashed him a cheesy smile for a moment before disappearing behind his mother's tail. As brave as he was for his size, ability, and age, Sparkz still harbored ill feelings towards mankind along with an unspoken but prevalent sense of fear.

"I'm afraid that's all you'll get from him," Furrball apologized as he signed in at the registration desk. The guard nodded, knowingly.

"Can't blame 'im. I wouldn't trust my kind either," he replied with a smile. "Subbasement floor 7. They've been expecting you guys."

If the lobby was any indication of the kind of money the investors had spent on the lab, there was a real chance of Sparkz walking out with a brand new paw after all. Leather sofas in the waiting area, an indoor fountain and tiles with a showroom finish as far as the eye could see. This, of course, did little to set Fifi's mind at ease as they entered the elevator. From her own experience, the harder one tries to convey cleanliness, the bigger the mess one is hiding.

…

"Ah, just in time! Come in, come in my friends."

The resident genius wore a look of exhaustion, contrasting his radiant smile and he was sporting more wrinkles on his face than either of his former students recalled him having before. A plethora of different colored chemicals in various sized flasks, test tubes and beakers littered the lab tables, making very little room for the microscopes and other equipment. A few assistants, mostly human adorned in white coats, ignored the guests, so engrossed in jotting notes on worn clipboards were they.

"Penelope sends her apologies," the coyote said, leading them to a vault door in the rear. "Her niece came down with the flu yesterday."

Wile punched in a code on the side of the vault so quickly that not even Sparkz could follow his movements. The Looney Tune grinned, noticing the awestruck look in the kitten's eyes.

"Unfortunately for us, time is of the essence, so we'll have to be a bit brief with the tour of the facilities. You understand, of course?"

Wile might as well have been talking to himself, as three sets of eyes were transfixed on the wonders of medical science before them. Among the three visitors, they would fail to identify a single piece of equipment, had they been asked to do so. Sparkz was particularly drawn to a device, which for all intents and purposes resembled a huge Jacob's Ladder on steroids.

"Don't touch the sparks, Spa-"

Fifi elbowed her husband, denying him the opportunity to finish the lame joke. The cat grinned ear to ear and squeezed her paw in response.

"What we've been able to do so far," Wile began, lifting Sparkz onto a high table so he could get a better glimpse of a maze of fluorescent tubing which seemed to serve no other purpose than decoration, "Is basically non-essentials… A tail here, a toe there, even went as far as an ear on a fennec. That was a real breakthrough." The resident genius beamed, proudly.

"So an entire paw, while difficult, wouldn't be out of the question. With my calculations, and please bear in mind Unlike my old shorts, I really **am** always correct, we could fit young Sparkz with a super lightweight metal covered by some artificial tissue that's so real, not even an M.E. could tell the difference. So he could definitely get a new paw if we did this, and probably have close to 95% use out of it.

"95%?" Fifi mused, wondering about the limitations five percent would imply.

"Well, he'll probably never be able to work a pneumatic jackhammer or go ice climbing on Mount Fuji, but other than that…"

_"__¿Puedo tocar la batería, también?"_ the kitten suddenly piped, having been uncharacteristically attentive for once.

Wile smiled and mussed Sparkz' hair. "_No veo porque no, gatito_."

Furrball looked from Wile to Sparkz to Wile again, upset that he was inadvertently left out of the loop. Fifi pulled him in close, to whisper in his ear, "He'll be able to play the drums."

_-Seis-_

_So what you think, Tres?_

Visits to his only friend's house were relatively few and far between. For one, Tres lived on the lower west side, which was about an hour drive, and more importantly, Furrball didn't completely trust the teal activist. Tres was a walking encyclopedia of conspiracy theories, revolutionaries, and cover-ups. The most frustrating part was that he never really overstepped his boundaries, since losing his eye in his last scuffle, and always backed his words up with facts. Furrball hated that he didn't approve of their friendship and had even articulated his apprehensions to his son once. Nevertheless, Sparkz had no other friends. He was too different to appreciate the average kid's nuances or hang ups. More importantly, the average child was afraid of Sparkz, from his appearance to his juvenile record in New Zealand, which had gone public some time during the second season tapings, thanks to a heartless shock jock.

This meeting was actually unauthorized, as Sparkz had said he was off to buy some new bongos on his own. Fifi hated that Furrball allowed their son to venture into the city on his own like that, but could never actually say so, considering the kind of childhood _he_ had. Furrball had articulated on countless occasions how much stronger Sparkz was at his age than he had been. Even so, it was the skunk's duty as a mother to worry.

Sparkz turned his attention back to his friend, wondering why he was quiet. Tres had spent the past month tinkering with, what could only be descried as some sort of telescope.

_Tres_…

_What do you want to hear? You want me to be happy for ya?_

Sparkz flinched, surprised at his friend's tone. Surely he wasn't so petty that he was jealous that he couldn't get his other eye back…

_Look at what they're doing to you, Manito. Like you're some kinda computer they can just upgrade when they want just cuz they got money. _

Sparkz walked over to the edge of the tunnel as a police cruiser flashed its lights at a speeder. Tres joined him.

_You show them that you're pissed that you can't drum right with one paw. So what do they do? They try and correct the problem. You're dangerous when you're pissed. They don't want no liability running around. Afraid you might embarrass them. Get them into trouble. It's cheaper to just throw some money in your mouth to make you happy, you know?_

_ I WANT THE DAMN PAW!_

Sparkz stopped his fist from connecting with Tres' jaw just in time. Before he had a chance to reconsider, a maglight shone in the cats' general direction. Before the patrolman could get visual confirmation, the two had escaped in opposite directions.

…

"Sparkz, hon, are you okay? Where're your new bongos?"

"Didn't have the ones I wanted."

Fifi could tell the disappointment on her son's face was deeper than a superficial material emptiness. His eyes were red; both of them this time, and he was trying in vain to hide it.

_"No tengo hambre, mami."_ And with that, Sparkz locked himself in his room.

…

"And then he said he wasn't hungry and locked himself in there."

"He's got a lot on his mind. I know he was excited about the idea about getting the new paw and everything... maybe we should tell him now."

"Tell him wha-… oh. Do you think that's a good idea, love?"

"It's better to do it when he's already upset than for him to get through this and disturb him again later on. I mean, the longer we wait to tell him, the more he'll suspect we were trying to hide it from him."

"You know best, I suppose. Sparkz," Fifi knocked on their son's door, gently. "Can we come in?"

They stayed put for a few moments. Just as they were about to give up hope, they heard the latches and locks lifting on the door. After the last lock was undone, the kitten still didn't open the door. Taking a deep breath, Furrball turned the knob and together, he and Fifi walked in.

There was an awkward silence for a bit, as Sparkz stared at his parents, trying to separate Tres' words with the reality he knew. Finally, he was able to crack a smile and sat on his bed.

"It's nothing," he whispered. Fifi opened her mouth, but Furrball beat her to the punch.

"We need to tell you something now," the cat explained. He elected to use English rather than Catonese, as Fifi should be involved in the conversation as well. Sparkz showed no verbal cues, so Furrball squeezed Fifi's paw and continued.

"Your mother and I are going to try…to…" the cat started sweating buckets all of a sudden and his mouth went dry. He looked at Fifi for help, feeling a bit embarrassed that for all his insistence, he couldn't follow through.

"Sparkz, honey… How would you like to be a big brother?" Fifi said tenderly.

Whatever Sparkz had been expecting, it clearly wasn't this. His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets and promptly transfixed on his father.

"You two are… _mami_, you're…!"

"We're trying, son."

The second 'son' left Fifi's tongue, Sparkz's brows furrowed for a moment.

"I'm sleepy," he announced, masking the disappointment in his voice. _"Buenas noches._" With that, the kitten curled up under his bed. Reluctantly, the couple left him to his thoughts, and inevitably, his nightmares.

_ Love you, son_. Furrball murmured in their native tongue before closing the door. _Don't forget that._

…

R-r-r-r-r-r-r-rin-n-n-n-n-n-g!

Instantly, the black paws pulled the pillow over his head tightly, trying to tune out the sound of the phone.

R-r-r-r-r-r-r-rin-n-n-n-n-n-g!

From the looks of the place, he hadn't cleaned in months, nor did he care about how the mountain of cans was a six-pack away from an avalanche.

R-r-r-r-r-r-r-rin-n-n-n-n-n-g!

"Damnit! What time is it?" Sylvester shouted into the receiver.

"7:00."

"F-f-furrball? That you?"

"Sorry to interrupt your 'night'."

"What's-s-s-s done is-s-s-s done. What's-s-s-s the matter?"

"Have you seen Sparkz today?"

"No. Haven't s-s-s-seen the tike s-s-since I taught him that roundhouse last month. How is-s-s he?"

"…"

"Furrball?"

"Thanks. I gotta go."

**-Part 2: Fin-**

_GAH! Curse these short, staccato chapters. If only the days were longer, the inspiration was more plentiful and I could enjoy a good Mountain Dew once in a while. Where is Sparkz? Oh my! Stay tuned 'til next week! Same cat time. Same cat place. Same cat… wait a second. That sounds ridiculous. Look for art associated to this story on my DA page in the future. Thanks for reading! Tell what I'm doing wrong if you are so inclined! Or right. Or left. =)_


	3. No Red Ferns Here

Chapter 3

He chose March, of all months. One of the most, if not _the_ most indecisive month on the calendar. One day decides to be warm and the next, a throwback to winter. Ridiculous wind chill and heartless pelting rain would strike at random. Of all the times to take off… The grey kitten shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable in his temporary shelter, an iffy branch on a wavering sycamore. It wasn't quite as warm as a dumpster, but it was, all things considered, a much more pleasant experience. Aside from the obvious olfactory benefits, it afforded him a better view of his surroundings and was just as good a camouflage. Of course, there was the ever-present threat of the twenty-foot fall, but that was a risk he gladly embraced, even in March.

Sparkz' eyes landed on the southwest for the twentieth time, the kitten's subconscious clearly indicating that he longed to see his father frantically searching for him. From what he'd gathered, Furrball wasn't the kind of cat that would've considered the treetops as refuge. As his gaze shifted towards the north, led in part by his nose, he discovered a pretzel wagon making a pit stop near a large fountain in the park. The kitten preferred the taste of squab to boiled dough, but the rumbling in his gut reminded him not to be picky. Closing his eyes, the feline scaled down his tree, headed for the food source.

"¡Hola chico gatito!"

It wasn't until Sparkz made his final approach that he realized the vendor was a friend of his father's. Pete Puma was notorious for playing a moron on the small screen, but the reality of the matter was quite different, as was typically the case. Pete was a linguist before becoming an actor. Spoke twelve languages and countless dialects. Because of his short attention span, and tendency to space out, people generally cast him as a dimwit. He never seemed to mind, as he'd once articulated to Sparkz that he just liked 'people watching', which was generally the reason he manned a pretzel cart on weekends. Not that he really needed the money.

"Buenos Dias, Señor Pedro. Uno pretzel, por favor." As he handed a bill to the puma, Sparkz felt odd, not having to stalk up to the location and steal his food, sprinting off in all directions, hoping the vendor wasn't desperate.

"¿Qué pasa, Sparkzito? Why you out so early today?"

Sparkz could see it was an innocent question, lest he be undercover for his dad. A part of him wished that were true.

"Not so early. Not for me."

"Guess not. Here you go! Enjoy!"

A part of Sparkz wanted to stay and chat. Very few could hold his interest in a conversation and when Pete started on one of his tangents, there was no telling where he might end up. The skeptic in him knew that the longer he stayed out, unannounced, the more frantic his parents would be and the more likely they would have enlisted the help of their known contacts. Although the puma was unlikely to be on the short list, the red-eyed pseudo-bandito couldn't take the chance. Before guilt could set in from the facts of the case, the kitten's train of thought transferred to a more immediate concern. As he sunk his fangs into the soft, salty snack, he wasn't certain of where to go next.

Though he'd been 'civilized' over the past couple of years, instincts were the feline's first consultants and they beckoned him towards the sound of a fire engine a few meters east. Waving goodbye to Pete with his phantom paw, Sparkz sprinted across the street.

-Siete-

Although he was a cat with very little pride to speak of in the first place, Furrball found it nearly unbearable to ring the doorbell of the good doctor. The last time the two had exchanged words, the feline nearly let his emotions get the best of him. Fortunately, Fifi had been present to stop him from doing something he'd live to regret, but there would be no such lifeline on this trip, as his wife had elected to remain at the house, waiting for their son's return.

Dr. Alva, though human, was a huge advocate for the EFS movement, a grassroots organization bent on alerting the government of inequality among species and decimating the concept of "subhuman". Being a free spirit himself, he'd encouraged Milo (Tres) to speak his mind no matter what. As this had ultimately resulted in the kitten losing sight in one of his eyes and a host of other physical ailments, Furrball suspected the man of exploiting his pet's volatile nature and strongly discouraged his son from seeing him. During their last mutual gathering, Dr. Alva had approached Furrball about this issue and the two hadn't spoken since then, going on six months now.

The feline quickly rang the doorbell, lest he change his mind. Instantaneously, he could hear the footsteps approaching, causing him to quickly swallow the lump in his throat.

"What a surprise! Come in, friend!"

Furrball stood, dumbfounded by the words and tone, refusing to find the man to be sincere. After a few moments of staring into space, he was taken aback to see the man put his arm on his shoulder, ushering him inside. The one thing that stopped him from the snapping the doctor's metacarpals was the fact that he needed information.

"Been a long time, hasn't it?" The cat noticed the man's voice hadn't cracked, suggesting the joy wasn't a charade after all. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Sparkz is…" Furrball felt the lump come back and his lip start to tremble. "W-well he's… have you seen him lately?" the last words barely a whisper.

Dr. Alva frowned, causing Furrball to suspect the worst. He was mistaken.

"¡Milo, ven aca!" the man bellowed, causing the cat's fur to stand on edge.

Slowly from the shadows emerged the kitten in question, wearing a guilty look as if his paw was stuck in the cookie jar and he couldn't get it out. He refused to look Furrball or his caretaker in the eyes, knowing full well what was coming.

-Ocho-

Now perched atop a fire escape overlooking the farmer's market Sparkz couldn't help but wonder what he was trying to accomplish. Being alone didn't typically help him clear his mind. He generally locked himself away in his room regardless, emerging only to feed or complain lately. He didn't really want to think about the worry he might have been causing his parents. It was better, easier not to take anyone else's feelings into account. He wasn't really running away; everyone in this town and probably with a TV knew him anyway. He couldn't get far if he wanted to. So what was he doing? Seeing a young family shopping for tomatoes, he recalled the reason. He could hear Tres' words as the father helped his daughter choose the best vegetables and sniffled as the mother picked their son up.

"Why you… Bertie! Waldorf! Tree that sumb*tch!"

Sparkz looked over to see a raccoon about his size trying to sprint off with his mouth full of apples as a couple of baying hounds pursued him. The ferrets shopping for tomatoes looked on nonchalantly as if this were a normal state of affairs. The shopkeeper ran after the three, clutching a revolver.

"Last time you're stealin' from me!" he shouted as the raccoon sped up a pine. The hounds barked as loud as they could, causing the kitten's blood to boil. He'd seen this before and the results were never pleasant. Before he even realized it, he was on the ground with a smooth stone in his paw. As the man took aim at the frightened kit, Sparkz hurled his stone with all his might. The rock hit the vendor in the shoulder, putting his aim off just slightly enough to hit the kit in the tail instead of the spine.

As the raccoon fell out of the tree, into one of the hound's jaws, Sparkz soon found himself under the paws of the other dog. He was pinned fast, as the canine shifted its weight onto his upper body, growling down at him, daring Sparkz to escape. From his vantage point he could see the hound's ribcage and the tight, worn collar suggested he'd been enslaved for years by the human. Brainwashed into letting the man think for him. The most dangerous kind of foe. The raccoon laid limp in the other dog's jaws, but from Sparkz's perspective, he was playing possum.

"That hurt, you stupid little pussy!" The man complained, approaching Sparkz.

"Serves you right, ya damn redneck!" Sparkz retorted, recalling the line from a TV show with a similar predicament, as he had no idea what he'd just said.

An evil expression flushed red across the man's face for a moment, quickly replaced by a snide smirk.

"Russell!" he shouted, checking the bullets in the cylinder. "What's the ordinance on killing them sallyent animals in the city limits?"

"Sally ant? You mean 'salient'?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"Just don't get caught. If it's dead, can't really prove if they were salient or not."

"I hear ya," the man flashed Sparkz a big grin as he took aim. "Move over, Waldorf."

The hound snapped his jaws at Sparkz, flecks of spittle splattering the kitten's face before getting off.

Sparkz hopped to his feet, but with the wind knocked out of him, could barely stumbled forward before falling back to all fours, his time out of 'the field' having a detrimental effect on his endurance. Hearing the ominous hollow click of metal, the kitten closed his eyes feeling the sight line up on his temple.

"I wouldn't do that, mister."

Sparkz looked up to find a portly shorter gentleman standing near his newest nemesis.

"Deputy Jamison. What a surprise. Seeing as how you're off duty and all."

The man refused to lower his weapon, keeping it trained on Sparkz, daring him to move.

"I hope you WAC 232-12-007 is up-to-date. It'd be a shame to have to report you to the Fish and Game Admin again. You could lose your permit for life this time." The deputy kept a safe distance from the man.

"I'll take my chances. Cats ain't covered by that stuff."

"You discharge that weapon on a public street and I'll make sure you wished you hadn't."

Sparkz looked up, as the man trained his weapon on the deputy now. There was something oddly familiar about this person that Sparkz couldn't wrap his brain around.

"Now Sam, you're not thinking. This is just foolish! Put your weapon down and I'll forget this whole thing happened!"

The words fell on deaf ears, though even the hounds were weary of their master as he started to get a psychotic glint in his eyes.

Before he had a chance to make good on his threat, the man hit the ground like a ton of bricks, falling victim to yet another hurled stone by the gray kitten, this rock landing just above the ear. The raccoon seized the opportunity as the dog dropped him to hightail it down the road joined promptly by his feline cohort. Before they could make it across the street, a sedan slammed on the breaks, swerving just in time to miss the raccoon, instead stopping inches from Sparkz. At first he didn't even feel it. Then the throbbing pulse indicated to Sparkz what was already apparent to the others. The tires had skidded across his left foot.

_-Nueve-_

"Room 334, sir. I-" the nurse stopped herself before she could express her love for the blue cat's TV show. Not that it'd have mattered as the feline had disappeared up the stairwell shortly thereafter.

"…"

Furrball didn't bother knocking as he burst into the room, showing no regard for hospital or feline etiquette. Fifi was already there, holding their son's bandaged arm, stroking it gently as Sparkz had his eyes diverted. He flinched slightly sensing his father's approach, but couldn't bring himself to lift his head.

_Why? _Furrball had never raised his voice to his son in Catonese nor had he demanded an explanation for anything in the past. Sparkz looked at his father for a moment. Though he opened his mouth, any words that might have come out dissolved the moment they hit the air.

"It's a miracle no bones were shattered." The doctor said from behind, loosening the tension a bit. "I estimate he'll be up in running in a matter of weeks. We'll have to keep him here overnight of course, but he'll be fine."

Furrball kept his eyes trained on his child, the doctor's words perhaps not even reaching his ears. Fifi nodded at the doctor smiling weakly. She got the hint and left the family in peace.

_I…_

_ What would possess you to do something like that?_

Sparkz gestured to the raccoon in the bed across the room, in a medicine induced REM state.

_I was trying to hel-_

_ You were right to help him! I meant running in the first place! Why'd you buy that nonsense from your little friend?_

Fifi was mostly out of the loop, her Catonese novice at best, but knew this was a tone her husband had never taken before.

"We've both done it before…" she tried, taking the protective side.

Furrball's stare finally broke as he turned to face his wife. "Run away?"

The skunk nodded, her nervousness starting to show.

"Yeah. But No one ever looked for me when I ran. How about you?"

Fifi swallowed hard, not wanting to argue with Furrball at the moment. Fighting in front of their already traumatized son would lessen any chances of regaining the fragile trust they had with him in the first place.

The cat got a sense of this, seeing the tears she was fighting back glisten in Fifi's eyes and eased off.

"I'm…sorry." Furrball breathed, opening his paw, extending it to Fifi. The skunk reciprocated, forcing a smile, though her eyes narrowed as they locked with her husband's. The universal sign, _forgiven, not forgotten._

"How do you say _that_ in Catonese?" she whispered as he moved in close for a kiss. Furrball smirked in response, purring subtly.

"_L'après_," he whispered back, winking.

"So what're we going to do now?" Fifi sighed, mussing Sparkz' tuft of hair.

"_Lo siento, mami," _ Sparkz addressed his mother, still unable to make eye contact. "I'm sorry, dad."

The blue cat took a deep breath before grabbing his son's head, forcing the kitten to look at him directly for once. He was shocked to see the cat's steely glare that dissipated before Fifi could interject as it melted into Furrball giving his son a bear hug, squeezing him tightly. "If I don't overreact to much…at least this time was worth it. I can't lose you."

Sparkz closed his eyes, trying in vain to catch the tears from falling. FIfi joined in the fray and for a while no one said or did anything.

*Ahem*

Straightening up, Furrball turned to see an officer standing in the doorway. His eyes narrowed as he saw the deputy's sidearm in the holster.

"Just wanted you to know that he's in custody being processed as we speak." The deputy skipped the formalities sensing the tension in the room, responding appropriately.

"You didn't come here just to tell us that." The accusation in Furrball's tone was palpable as he instinctively pulled his son in tight.

"Well Sam's been blabbing about pressing charges and I did see him throw the second stone that struck 'im in the head."

"If he did what you said, there must've been a good reason!" Fifi growled, taking a step toward the cop.

"Now just hold your horses, missy. I've got pepper spray too."

Furrball had to restrain his wife from slugging the deputy in the gut for that cheap shot.

"But seeing as how the kid saved that one's life with the first rock and mine with the second, I have a feeling those charges just might be lost in a sea of paperwork." the officer smiled, tipping his hat to the kitten. "That's some boy, you got there." And with that, he was gone as soon as he'd arrived.

"Did he just say our son was a hero?" Furrball was the first to speak, melting the contempt from his wife.

"Oui, it certainly seems that way!" Fifi responded, planting a kiss on her son's forehead. "What's wrong, Sparkzy?"

"What's going to happen to him?" the kitten nodded to the raccoon who still hadn't returned from dreamland.

"I dunno, I guess…"

"Can we take him home with us? Broken tails mess up balance."

"Hard to evade, then." Furrball agreed quietly. "What? No, no no."

"Can we tak-"

"Sparkz don't ask it. I don't want to tell you-…"

"But he-"

"Fifi! Tell him. You can't just take a stray off the street into your home. It's… it's…"

FIfi smiled, looking at the shock on her husband's face for saying that last line. Sparkz's eyes lit up as he went in for the kill.

"So?"

"Let me talk to your dad about it, okay?" Fifi winked, pulling Furrball away. "Why don't you get some rest?"

Across the room as Sparkz cheered and Fifi dragged her husband away, the young procyon couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face. Even if it weren't going to happen, it was a nice thought, anyway.

-End: Part 3-

_Sorry it's so late and so little! I swear I'm gonna give ya more as soon as I can! _


	4. Excused for Living

-Chapter 4-

With the help of their son's linguistic expertise from his experience in the procyon community (two members of his street family had been raccoons in New Zealand), Fifi and Furrball learned what little tidbits they could about the raccoon. He went by the name "Chafe", although names were rarely used directly from one raccoon to another. He stated that he refused to live with the family, but decided to stay with them a week until his body was healthy enough to have the surgery to replace his tailbone. Chafe wouldn't give any other information and the adults wouldn't press. Furrball, more than most, knew the importance of mystique, necessary for survival. As the cat entered the bedroom, he couldn't shake the feeling that something seemed off about Chafe.

"They're huddled up on opposite sides of the room, like a couple of resting tumbleweeds." Furrball stretched slowly, yawning as he closed the door.

"You think," Fifi mused putting her tablet down, "That might've been your name if you'd been born in Reno?"

Furrball scratched his head, confused.

"Tumbleweed. You know, Nevada. Desert…" the skunk explained. "Would've matched your personality before _us_."

"Huh."

"Can I ask why Sparkz can understand him and you can't?"

"Hmm?" The cat flopped on the bed, nearly knocking the device to the floor. Fifi caught it in the nick of time, swatting her husband with her tail for good measure. With a mischievous glint in his feline eyes, Furrball squeezed the fluffy tail, trying to reel her in resulting in an impromptu game of tug of war that ended with the skunk lying atop the cat, who, quite by accident, cushioned her fall.

"Well?" Fifi asked with a smile.

"I used to fight to live and live to fight, ya know," the cat panted, scrambling for purchase, gripping nothing but the throw rug. "Just know that I let you win."

"Is that a fact?" A pseudo-sadistic smirk spread across the skunk's face as she leered down at him. The smile was contagious.

Furrball knew he wouldn't get an answer until he spilled the beans and was beginning to feel the circulation cut off in his lower torso.

"It's probably different in New Zealand," he began as she shifted her position, not quite getting off, but making things a bit more comfortable for the cat. "Where I grew up, the raccoons would fight off anyone in their territory. They were much more organized and pretty much kept to themselves."

Satisfied, Fifi used her husband as a step stool to get back into bed, pulling him up when she had gotten comfortable.

"You ever fight one before?"

Furrball stretched out his forearm, motioning to a patch where no fur grew. The skin was slightly discolored in a jagged formation. Fifi ran her finger along the scar, finding that it went far beyond the bald patch. As she reached his shoulder, Furrball caught her paw and kissed it before pulling it away.

"I wouldn't have called it 'fighting'."

Fifi tried not to imagine how it must have been for the cat, growing up. Sometimes it was hard to believe he had gone through so much in such a vulnerable period.

"You don't seem to harbor any grudges…"

"It was a long time ago," Furrball answered quickly. "Besides, not every raccoon I met tried to kill me."

The skunk elected not to inquire the nature of the goofy smile her husband produced and lost as soon as he realized he had it.

"Hey, how come you never talk about Paris?"

"? Where did…"

"You don't have to if you don't want. I just… How'd I get so lucky?"

"What do you mean?"

I hear it's a great city. But you ended up over here anyway. If you hadn't… we wouldn't…"

"Yeah."

"You were 9 when you transferred to the Looniversity, right? Did you come straight from Paris?"

"Papa got transferred for his job. I can remember hating him so much for that. I never told him of course. Mom did, though. That's when the whole thing started."

"You're shaking."

"It's drafty in here. Don't you think?"

_-Diez-_

The pills clearly weren't working for either one of them. Sparkz tried to will away the pulsing nerves on his paw, failing miserably. He shuddered to think how his new roommate must have felt.

"Chari cou cansaas churiko?"

Sparkz looked up at the raccoon, suspicions confirmed.

_Force of habit. I don't like beds._

The two had come to a diplomatic compromise. While they could clearly understand one another, having spent time with the opposite species for whatever reasons in their past, neither had the vocal cords to articulate in their respective target languages, Catonese or Raconian. Chafe had been on his own for the past year after refusing to 'regulate on' a feline that had strayed into his territory, a gesture more out of laziness than compassion.

"Chimako ciicoiu ce calina cuhh?"

_I mean, yeah. If I get the chance. I'm a cat. It's in my blood, I guess._

"Cuhh? Claniiisou cuhh?"

_ If we were designed to live off grass and carrots, believe me, I would give up the hunt in a heartbeat. _

Sparkz suspected there was a level of contempt in his roommate. Apparently he'd given up on omnivorous tendencies in favor of the herb sense of the word. The remainder of the night was spent in somewhat awkward silence.

_-Once-_

It'd been years since he'd set foot on Bauchet Street, though the ominous feeling remained, seeping up through the cracks in the concrete, absorbed by the cat as he passed Wai Sang Meat, stopping a few meters back. The cat glanced at his watch. 4:42 AM. Scanning the opposite side of the street, Furrball noticed a few others loitering, not really paying him any mind. He could see some people in cars, the exhaust from the tailpipes smoking up, reminding him of his younger days. He wondered how many gathered had similar, or worse, yet, more aggressive intentions than him. Shrugging off the thought, he focused straight ahead, waiting for his mark to show. He was actually surprised that Fifi didn't try to stop him when the officer called with the tip. She wanted it, the same as he did. Wanted to make sure it was over.

Before long, a short, stout man with a large mustache left the jail, headed for the taxi alley. The cat took off in gradual pursuit. A few meters later, Furrball could feel no more eyes in their direction and quickened his step significantly. Just as the man started to flag a taxi, he made his move, letting his presence be known to the perpetrator.

"Better just be a rumor."

Sam spun around, feeling naked without his piece.

"The hell are you doin' here, sneaking around like a cat in the night?"

Furrball smirked at the simile, taking a step towards the man. Unlike with typical humans, Furrball actually almost towered over this one.

"You pressing charges? Bad idea." The cat sucked his teeth, glaring down at the man.

"I can do whatever I want! Your boy shouldn't a thrown nothing at a person."

"My advice? Let it go. Or a couple of pebbles will be the least of your worries."  
>"That a fact? What you gonna do, kitty? Claw my eyes out?"<p>

"I could…" Furrball took a step towards Sam causing the man to flinch, bumping into something he hadn't expected.

"Then I'd get whatever'sssss left, Sssssam."

Sam took one look at the second body and conceded defeat, his posture limping like a wet noodle in the presence of the seasoned vet.

"Alright. It's done with," he managed.

The black cat cracked his knuckles. "Better be."

The felines watched a moment as the man fled off to the next street hailing cab after cab until he finally was able to escape the scene. Furrball felt a pat on his shoulder from his elder.

"Not bad," he said, one of his rare praises. "Next time I won't even have to make an entrance."

Furrball grinned, removing Sylvester's paw. "You're notorious by rep alone. But me?"

Sylvester smirked, swiping the air in front of his old student, not even eliciting a flinch. "Careful. If Fifi knew your whole story, she'd have stayed away for good."

"Good thing she doesn't know, then," the blue cat swiped back at Sylvester, stopping a micrometer from his nose. "Can I ask a favor, then?"

"Consider it done."

"What? No, not the Johnny thing. Just watch him in case he changes his mind and let me know. I'd rather handle this one myself if it came down to it."

"You're no fun, kid."

"And you're kind of a sadist, Sly."

Former master and apprentice smiled at one another for a moment.

"Sssticks and sssstones, m'boy. Sssticks and ssstones."

_-Doce-_

"Don't want it?" the coyote's voice cracked as the vein in his forehead nearly exploded. "For heaven's sake, why not, my boy?"

Sparkz glanced around. The lab. He could count at least 12 pairs of eyes on him. Rather than explain himself, the kitten tried to shift the focus to another. "He needs a tail, sir," he said in a small voice nodding at Chafe.

"That's not an answer!" Wile was beyond frustrated, having wanted nothing more than to have a live test subject for his bionic paw, moreso than wanting to improve the quality of life in the kitten.

Sparkz's eyes narrowed slightly as his apprehension was overcome by anger.

_ Humans took it. I can't trust them as long as it's gone. Human technology gives it back, I forget my pain, maybe I trust them again. Maybe next time they take my head instead._

The felines in the room collectively diverted their eyes, knowingly. Wile looked to Furrball for an explanation, having no working knowledge of the kitten's native language.

"I'll talk with him. Maybe he'll have a change of heart later. But not today." The older cat said, skipping the explanation.

The aging coyote could read a severe, almost primal glint in his old student's eye that sobered him up quickly. With a heavy sigh and shrug of his shoulders, the canine knelt down to inspect his impromptu patient. "Hmm. Maybe he won't need it so much. The wound's nowhere near the base of his tail and it's only nicked the bone. I think it should heal itself in about a month or so." a sly grin spread across Wile's muzzle indicating that he had a method of speeding up the healing process, not wanting to waste any time to build suspense for dramatic pause.

"I just so happen to have a little cocktail mixed up this morning that should fix that nick in no time. Adele?"

Chafe tensed up as a woman handed Wile a serum in a syringe. Sparkz held his bandage out, almost touching the kit. Chafe brushed it away, putting on a brave face as he looked the coyote in the eyes.

"Well you're a brave one!" Wile smiled. "Go ahead and straighten out your tail as far as you can, okay?"

Chafe cocked his head, unclear.

"Chinako ceu ceu carina."

Wide-eyed, Chafe stared up at the coyote, never having known any canine to have knowledge of his language before. He did as instructed, barely making any progress straightening his tail.

"Alright, alright. Not bad, kid." Wile led the raccoon to the rear of the lab. "Let's make it all better, okay?"

_-Trece-_

The rare day off was always cause to celebrate, even though Fifi hadn't been in much of a mood to be celebrating considering all the madness of the past week. Nevertheless, she decided to honor her commitment to meeting her oldest friend. The two mutually agreed that a movie was out of the question, so they found themselves in the older part of town perusing an outdoor market.

"So I finally answered the phone when he called last night."

Fifi looked up at the duck who was eying the wares of an incense dealer.

"Fowlmouth?" she speculated.

"Uh huh." Shirley's tone was neutral this time.

"Uh oh. How'd that go over?"

Shirley handed some cash to the merchant and took her sticks, letting the suspense build slightly as a purse weaver caught her eye.

"I told him to stop calling, that he was wasting his time, I wasn't interested and we had nothing in common whatsoever and to move on." she said as they approached the table. It was a mother and daughter team. The mother was sitting on a rocking chair knitting purses as the daughter negotiated with the customers. The patterns in the purses seemed chaotic to the untrained eye, but the girls knew better.

"How'd he take it?" Fifi mused as they browsed.

"Well," the duck's voice began to trail off.

"Well what, Shirley? Don't hold out on your best friend."

Shirley picked out a turquoise and maize cloth wallet with a tribal design.

"$4.00," the daughter smiled at the two as Shirley paid.

"We're going out tomorrow night." Shirley confessed as soon as they were out of earshot of others.

"What? _C'est dingue!_" The skunk exclaimed, "Crazy!"

The duck simply laughed. "Well, while I was yelling at him, I didn't feel that icy feeling on the back of my neck like I was betraying Plucky anymore. And…"

"Go on."

"Well after I yelled at him, he started speaking a million miles a minute as usual and for the first time, I caught the gist of what he was saying and it was, you know…kind of sweet."

"Cursing and all?" Fifi playfully jabbed.

"Well, that's why I said "kinda". He can't help who he is, after all and I don't need to carry a torch for Plucky even if the feeling of freedom is temporary, you know?" Shirley looked up at a runaway leave gliding across the horizon.

Fifi sighed mysteriously. "Don't I ever."

"So enough about me, how's the family?" The duck switched topics hoping to steer the talk from an emotional rut.

"Furrball's driving me up the walls as usual."

"Really?"

"Only at night, actually. He's very …committed to _it_."

"Oh." Shirley blushed suddenly, getting the punch line. "_Oh…_ Any progress?"

"It'll happen, I think. Any day now."

"And Sparkz?" she hadn't seen the kitten _in feline_ since the wedding.

"Well I told you about Chafe, right?"

"No, what happened?"

"The minute we left Wile's lab, he took off and never came back."

"Oh no. How's the kid taking it?"

"Well, you know. He says he's fine, but the eyes don't lie. He just looks so lonely these days, even through that shallow smile he's been wearing more and more recently."

"Puttin' on a brave face, huh?" Shirley frowned.  
>Fifi brushed her hair out of her face as they made their way to a tent selling necklaces. "Yeah, but I think it's a bit more than that."<p>

"How so?"

"I don't know, it's hard to describe. He just… as much as he seems to want to cling to his anger, there's a part of him that seems much more at ease with life if he doesn't think about stuff."

"Naturally."

"Yeah, but he doesn't want to admit it."

"He'll come around," Shirley encouraged. "Hey, check **this **one out!"

_-Catorce-_

Turning the key in the door, Fifi felt a gust of wind out of nowhere; giving her the sense that something was amiss. She could hear her husband laughing from the living room, which, while not particularly strange, typically didn't happen when she was absent (or so she thought).

_Hey love!_ The cat purred, his typical Catonese greeting. The skunk didn't verbally reciprocate for once, but dropped her bags at the door. Sitting across the room was a most unexpected visitor.

"Dizzy?"

The lavender marsupial grinned wide, standing politely as Fifi entered the room. "Madam," he said, his distinct voice butchering his attempt at a French accent. After the mandatory European air kisses, Fifi joined her husband on the sofa and Dizzy sat back down on the love seat across from them.

"I came home from the gym and he was waiting on the porch!" Furrball explained. "What a surprise, you know?"

"Definitely!" Fifi exclaimed, trying to match her husband's enthusiasm and suppress her almost pessimistic curiosity.

"It been too long!" the Tasmanian devil began. "Three years, no vacation, you know?"

"And you'd spend some of it in L.A.? You'll spend half of the time in traffic!"

"I'm not spend my whole time here."

"Well, at least stay for dinner, won't you?" Fifi got up, walking towards the kitchen. "You two have a lot to catch up on."

Furrball started to get up, but Fifi tapped him with her tail assuringly.

"Take a walk?" Dizzy suggested as the skunk disappeared into the kitchen.

"Roof?" Furrball offered. Dizzy grinned, nodding.

…

As ecstatic as he'd been to see his old friend, in the back of his mind, the cat suspected that something was amiss. His suspicions were confirmed as he watched Dizzy's exuberant expression morph into a look bordering desperation. It was an appearance he, himself had turned into an art form, and not wasting any time, the cat attempted to pry.

"It's best if you just blurt it out."

"It bad, Furrby." Dizzy avoided eye contact.

Coupling this composure with his friend's tone, Furrball was slightly relieved, surmising that the problem wasn't Dizzy's.

"Tell me."

Dizzy looked at his feet, taking a deep breath. "It the papers."

For a moment, the two remained silent, pausing to allow a gust of wind to pass. When he didn't receive a response after the fact, Dizzy looked up at Furrball. The cat's eyes were merely slits, his facial muscles flexed, visibly pumping blood to the veins in his forehead. Whatever Furrball had guessed about the cryptic reply, Dizzy's expression articulated that he'd guessed correctly.

"Sparky's mom,"

"Sparkz." Furrball growled.

"His birth mother, she used private agency for adoption. No government. Less paperwork. Easy for immigrants." Dizzy stopped to sniff the air.

"He's not here. He's in the park looking for his friend," the cat said.

"They took out that agency this year. They traffic. They with the sweatshops. Anyone adopt through agency, the government say is void."

"What's that got to do with us? We adopted him through the government."

"Yes. But he adopted already before you through that agency."

"So?"

"So our bureaus don't talk each other. His adoptive mom. She put out a missing persons for him when he was a baby. She have his brothers and sister. Had, anyway."

"He's got family?"

"Families."

"Why 'had'?"

"They took them out home. Have to sort out paperwork to see who they can live with. See, they found birth mom, too. So there will custody hearing."

"Sparkz isn't involved. My papers are legit."

"According to government, no. The birth mother didn't relinquish custody."

"… You can't take him."

"Don't want to. But they coming. Tomorrow."

"Who?"

"Marshalls."

"What?"

"The countries talked. They have permission to take him until this over."

"Nothin' doing."

"Take him tonight. Run away."

"…"

"You don't have choice."

"Who is the birth mom?"

"You know her."

"Who?"

"You never guess."

"Who?"

_-End: Part 4-_

Ah, I'm sorry. It's so late. And I can't tell you who. Well, you probably can guess since I already kinda said it, but also, I think it'd be better to show that, rather than tell. So, please stay tuned for chapter five! I think it should be finished much faster than chapter four… I hope, anyway. Thanks for readin'!


	5. Ballad of Forgotten Lore

Chapter 5

_-Quince-_

His trigger finger itchy, the cat stood, seemingly calmly, silently cursing himself for having never purchased ammunition for his father's old revolver.

His eyes never left his son, huddled in the embrace of his wife across the room; Fifi clinging to Sparkz as if the kitten would disappear if she let him go in front of their unwelcome guests.

"Dizzy has it all wrong," the suit with the thick accent said.

Furrball had been introduced when they arrived but paid little attention to who they were specifically, his natural instinct to group similar individuals into a conglomeration had yet to suppress itself, even now.

"He's a good friend to you, but I assure you, he was mistaken," the man continued, a cheesy smile on his face complimented by a slightly condescending tone. We're not after _him_ at all," he gestured towards Sparkz, nearly causing Furrball to pounce, as though the man was going to kidnap him.

"Why have you come?" the icy tone matched the piercing glare in his feline eyes.

The man produced an audiocassette, offering it to Furrball. The cat didn't budge. Before Fifi could stop him, Sparkz snatched it out of the man's hand, quickly returning to his mom's embrace.

"Just a little field study on the child's past. A couple of interviews you might find interesting," the suit explained. "It would be wonderful if you'd listen to them now so you'll be up to speed when we discuss some options you have on the table."

"Dizzy, can you take Sparkz out for a pretzel? He knows where."

"On Maple Run?" the kitten piped.

"How about Sycamore and 3rd?"

Sparkz's eyes lit up and he grinned ear to ear. "That's 3 miles!"

"Dizzy'll make sure you're okay._ Won't you?_" Furrball turned his attention to his old friend. It was more of a threat than anything else.

"Let's go Sparkxy!"

As the door closed behind the two, Furrball looked out the window, only returning to reality when he felt his wife's paw on his knee.

"You afraid he's gonna run off?" the cat addressed the suit, not facing him.

"Of course not. We're not after him, anyways, as I said."

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't believe you. But either way, it doesn't matter. Only way he's going with you is by you stepping over my dead carcass."

"Honey…"

"Give up the tough guy act for a minute, and get a tape player, will you?"

That got the tomcat's attention. Facing the man, Furrball stood up, approaching him with a purpose. Before the suit's escorts could even react, Furrball took a swipe at him, grabbing the tape player off the table behind him, rather than slugging the suit in the gut.

As the cat pressed 'play', a vaguely familiar voice filled the room, causing the couple to look at each other, neither really able to verbally articulate the speaker's identity.

* * *

><p><em>Twelve Years ago…<em>_Tauranga, New Zealand… 37 miles from Rotorua…_

It was around the summer just before my senior year in college. Had high hopes for New Zealand and apparently they had high hopes for me since instead of a student visa, I'd gotten a provisional residency card. 'Course back then, those things were much easier.

I dunno, it was the usual cliché. Being a runaway myself, I basically raised myself, balancing survival with singing. Amazing how those two always seemed to coincide with one another. So I was performing at the annual Jazz Festival and that's when I first saw him. I dunno what happened. I wasn't particularly interested in a relationship. I didn't really care. But there was something about the way he played that slap bass. Or maybe it was the way he looked at me the whole time the festival was going on. I don't think he ever took his eyes off of me.

See, look at me, I'm a mess. Can't even bring myself to speak his name. It started out innocently enough. A couple of drinks, a couple of laughs and that was it, until he started waiting for me after my classes. I don't think I can really pinpoint the moment when my priorities started to change, but one thing led to another and six months later, I had gained a bit of weight and was starting to get sick, missing classes, rehearsals, even a performance. The school sent me to the doc and, lo and behold, guess who was pregnant?

I figured, you know, slap on the wrist, a bit of a one-on-one with the dean and things would be fine, right? Nope. They kicked me out of the program and failed me in the class for missing the performance. Some kind of 'Honor Code violation'. Yep. 3 credits shy of graduating. By then, I didn't care. Still had my cat.

I dunno what happened for sure. When I told him, he didn't have an expression. Not happy, not scared, not nervous, nothing. He just said, "oh," and got up. Said he was going to the bathroom. That was the last I ever saw of him. I'd asked about him, looked for him, but everyone had the same story, they had no idea who I was talking about. Maybe he'd given me a false name. I dunno. I didn't even have a photo of him.

Well, I took it pretty hard on the inside, but the last thing I wanted to do was screw everything up for my kids, so instead of taking the school's semester suspension, yeah. I just went to a dive I used to eat at and started waiting tables. I got huge tips, because I'd sing while I was working and people just kind of liked me. There was this one lady that would come every day for lunch and sometimes brought her husband at night. Great tipper.

* * *

><p>The suit turned the tape over, watching his hosts' reactions. He was disappointed to find little more than a tick of confusion on the cat's face. Giving him zero time for speculation, the suit hit 'play' again.<p>

* * *

><p>So this waitress at my favorite diner, she would always have this sad smile on her face and a song on her lips to match. We would talk all the time. I felt it was like talking to a younger sister. I could tell she was going downhill as she got heavier and slower, but she never missed a beat or cut her hours. That always impressed me so much.<p>

So one day I came in on Sunday, the one day I knew she wouldn't work and I asked John, the owner. I asked him why she worked so much if she was pregnant. He explained about her school, boyfriend and needing the cash, but I knew whatever she was making wouldn't have been enough. Of course, I always wanted to have kittens of my own, but couldn't. So I had to make the offer.

She was very quiet initially. It was like she felt guilty for having that sparkle in her eye. Kamaka and I weren't rich, but we were in a much better position to raise a litter than she was. Eventually she said she'd do it, on the condition that she'd never have to see them. She still ended up working until two days before her pregnancy. Kamaka said he'd taken care of everything as far as the adoption papers went. He was my husband. Who was I to question him, you know? So, as soon as she had her three little ones, we took them home. She didn't want to see them or us ever again. I heard that she took all the money she'd made and left the island as soon as she got out of the hospital.

Well, two girls and a boy. Adorable little kittens. Kamaka seemed very happy to have them as well. When they were about a week old, I noticed the smaller boy, my little Reyssa, developed something around his eye that had turned it red. He seemed to be able to see out of it, but even so, we took him to the doctor. The doctor said he would definitely need an operation or he would lose sight in that eye. The problem was the operation would've cost around $36,000. Err, $28,000 American. We didn't have the money. Three new kittens and a sudden bill like that? So I told Kamaka to sell his Bentley to pay for the surgery. He said he would.

Turns out he said he ended up taking back him to the adoption agency. Apparently, they had no trouble understanding the situation and gladly took Reyssa back, stating that he'd easily be adopted, given his young age and they had a few prospects in mind. Despite this reassurance Kamaka tried to give me, I was livid. I went to the agency that very day and they told me they had no idea what I was talking about, that Kamaka hadn't come back at all. Of course I confronted my husband with the news and he swore to me he wasn't lying. We went back to the agency together and he accused them of all sorts of things. Started throwing furniture and what have you. They just called the cops on him and he ran off. That was the last I ever saw of my husband. There was this huge manhunt for Kamaka because finding him would lead to Reyssa's whereabouts, but nobody knows what happened to him. His family was famous for yacht making, so we figured he'd left the island after awhile. Before long that adoption agency went under the radar as well and nobody had any leads on Reyssa's whereabouts. When the case went cold, being a new single mother of two, it wasn't as if I had given up, but…

* * *

><p>"So you see, we already took Reyssa's DNA while he was in juvie. It's definitely him," the suit declared, stopping the tape.<p>

"What DNA did you have to compare it to in the first place?" Furrball demanded before his wife nudged him.

"His siblings," she whispered, causing the cat to scowl. "So what happens now?" she inquired, knowing that any words out of her husband at this point would be illogical and riddled with random profanities.

The suit adjusted his tie and cleared his throat a bit.

"Well, that's up to you as a family. Nobody is trying to take the kid from you. You did everything by the book, and he's obviously in great hands, with a good career in the works already. We wouldn't dream of jeopardizing that."

"So…"

"So, the biological mother has elected not to accept our invitation for a reunion of sorts, but we do have her last known address." The man placed a legal pad on the coffee table. Furrball kept his eyes on him, not even the least bit concerned with the information.

"And the original adoptive mother of the three has said she wouldn't dream of separating Reyssa from the both of you, though she would like for-"

"Sparkz." Fifi interjected.

The man blinked a couple of times. "Excuse me?"

"His name is Sparkz." She growled, her own anger boiling up every time she heard their son referred to with the foreign name.

"…Well, she would like to give his sisters the ability to meet with him, if at all possible. Her contact information is on the next page."

"Is that all?" Furrball's icy tone set the hairs on the man's back straight up.

"Quite. Should you give the word, we'll be out of your life for good."

"Leave."

Furrball was impressed by his wife's fervor, but rather than show it, echoed the sentiment, rising to his feet.

"I'll see myself, out," the suit announced, getting up.

"Allow me," Furrball snarled ripping open the front door.

Furrball's steely glare met with the suit as the man hurried down the porch steps with his silent escorts. "This had better be the last time I even _smell_ you around my son," the feline growled. As if on cue, the cat's ear's perked ever so slightly as he sensed his son's footsteps sprinting towards the house. Dashing past the man, Furrball scooped his son up in his paws, relieved that his trust he'd put in one of his only friends had not been foolhardy. His demeanor changed instantly as he felt the breeze of the purple tornado before long.

"How he beated me?" Dizzy exclaimed, exhausted.

Sparkz bit into his pretzel as the men slowly disappeared in the horizon.

_Want some?_ the kitten offered, pulling off a generous piece for his father. The cat graciously accepted, though he secretly detested salty snacks, shoving the piece into his mouth, chewing noisily, eliciting an uncontrollable giggle out of his young charge as they went into the house.

_-Dieciséis-_

_Sisters?_

Despite wanting to include Fifi in the conversation, Furrball knew full well that Sparkz would have to have this particular discussion in their native tongue. The skunk sat patiently across from the two, trying her best to keep up with the Catonese.

_It's up to you, you know?_

_ For what? I dunno them. It doesn't matter._

_ So you don't want to see them?_

_ They don't want to see me, I think. You know?_

_ Yeah._ Furrball thought back to his youth. He never really missed what he never really had, himself. _But even so, if you've got the chance, you know…_

_ I know. I think, you know._

_ Yeah. _

_ Papi, what about you? Would you go?_

_ If I just found out that I had siblings? I don't know. I don't want to lie to you. You've been through enough in your life to know if I really did try to lie. I'm selfish when it comes to you, son. You know? I don't want you getting confused or starting to hate me because I kept you from meeting them, but…_

_ You don't want me going and staying, either._

Furrball hugged Sparkz, pulling him in close.

_How'd you get so old for your age, kitty?_

Sparkz hugged back, shrugging. He tried in vain to get the lump in his throat to go away. _You…_

Furrball waited for his son to regain his composure. He had yet to see his son lose his emotions to anything other than rage before.

_You don't have to worry. Because you're my papi. _

Whatever else Sparkz had to say was drowned in a shower of tears that lasted until the sun had gone down.

_-Diecisiete-_

It was a bit stuffy in the room for some reason. Fifi didn't seem to mind as she scribbled into her journal. The day's events had worn heavily on her husband's heart, zapping his energy to nil. Snoring himself awake, the cat took a moment to take in his surroundings, his eyes finally coming into focus on the silhouette of his wife on the wall. Although he saw it coming, Furrball made no attempt to stop her bushy tail from smothering him for a moment, pinning him to the bed.

The skunk let up before long, worried by his lack of a typical playful struggle.

"Why'd you stop?" the cat lay flat out on the bed, not bothering to lift his upper torso.

"Because, _mon amour,"_ Fifi announced, flipping her hair back, a crafty grin on her muzzle. "It's no fun if you don't fight back."

At this, Furrball started to sit up, only to be shoved back down by the large tail. 'Try' as he might, the cat could not retain a vertical position, and before long was no longer faking resistance as Fifi's tail methodically wrapped around his body, constricting, as if it were a boa, trying to show some affection to her prey. Though intimacy was common between the two, it had been quite a while since Furrball had found himself in this situation, though he was in no position to protest, even if he wanted to.

Fifi lessened her grip a bit when she could hear wheezing, though this proved to be the beginning of the end. Capitalizing on this breadth of slack, the cat maneuvered his way out of the tail trap, turning the tables on the skunk as he slowly kissed her neck. Before he could take it a step further, Fifi grabbed his face, pulling his ripped ear next to her lips.

As Fifi whispered, the cat's ears grew hot at the tips and tingled slightly with a sensation he had never known before.

"Wh-when?" Furrball stammered, staring into the skunk's eyes.

"Just today. I'm three weeks."

The subsequent kiss lasted longer than an Olympic swimmer could manage.

"So, I mean, how long does it take?"

"The doc said about five months or so."

"I gotta wait that long?"

"Excuse me? _Vous?_ Don't you mean _we_?"

"Of course, I mean 'yes'!"

It took Fifi a moment to get the joke, but she slugged him in the shoulder when it sunk in, grinning as he grabbed it in pain. Before long a look of panic swept across the feline's face killing the buzz.

"What, Sparkz?" Fifi inquired. The cat nodded.

"He didn't even want to see his biological sisters… How are we gonna break the news to him about this?"

Fifi kissed her husband on the forehead, pulling him in closely.

"Very gently," she cooed.

_** -The End: Part 5- **_


	6. Strike While the Putter is Hot

Chapter 6

_-Dieciocho-_

The scent of night is like nothing else, particularly in the month of April. Inhaling deep, the streak of silver stalked the city streets looking to clear his head from the previous week's revelations. Unbeknownst to himself, young Sparkz's night vision was proportionally stronger than others of his species. Since he'd known nothing other than his condition, he never questioned his inability to see out of his left eye in the daylight. It was particularly frustrating, considering it was his right paw that was missing so he had no choice but to be dominant with his blind spot. Of course, the tables were turned when the sun went down and this advantage had saved his life more times than the kitten cared to remember.

Turning into an alley, his viper-like eye caught a glimpse of a shrew quaking in fear under a newspaper, hoping against hope that he wasn't on the prowl for a late night snack.

Stopping in front of the rodent, Sparkz's nose twitched before instinct could kick in. Tearing the makeshift camouflage off of the shrew, the feline scowled, sniffing, to get confirmation of his suspicions.

_You call that hidin'?_ he growled. The shrew covered her eyes, petrified, besides violently quaking before her natural predator.

_You got kids on the way and you're out in the open? Bad form, mama. Bad form._

Sparkz could tell she couldn't understand him, so simply continued on his way down the alley, his thoughts now on Fifi. He'd known she was pregnant weeks before they told him. From the scent of things, it was likely a girl. A baby sister was good. A lot less pressure that way. Of course, he'd have to step up his game if he were going to be an acceptable guardian. The kitten's claws retracted just thinking of it. Oddly enough, not a thought in his head came for his existing siblings.

Dashing out from the alley with an impromptu burst of energy, Sparkz let his instinct lead him back to his favorite sniper post in the park, the old sycamore. It was a ritual of his climbing to the top to survey his stomping grounds and perhaps get a glimpse of Chafe. Once in a while he'd see the raccoon around. Sometimes they'd lock eyes, but the interaction ended at that, neither one wishing to initiate dialogue. For Sparkz, on the surface, it was somewhat of a pride matter. For Chafe, it was rather survival instinct. If word were to get out that he was feline-tolerant, his life would become more and more conflict-oriented.

Clawing his way to a sturdy branch in record time, Sparkz scanned the area. At the last possible second, the one-paw wonder braced for impact from above. He could hear the raccoon's claw digging into the sides of the branch, pinning his own limbs to the side as his head pressed against thee trunk.

"Chedo china cauwa!"

_Not this time_.

Sparkz smirked knowing for once he was in his element with every advantage. Twisting his hind limbs, he shifted his weight before the raccoon had a chance to realize his own mistake as he lost his grip, nearly falling out of the tree. The young feline crouched low, a confident smirk plastered across his face as the raccoon struggled to regain his balance on the limb.

_-Diecinueve-_

The distinct aroma of brewed Irish Crème wafted throughout the house, a favorite tactic of Fifi's to force her husband out of bed. While he had trained himself over the years to adapt to a more civilized sleep schedule, there were often days like the present where instinct would kick in and rob him of his motivation to join the land of the living before the sun had begun its descent. Because his wife would only brew a pot of Joe in the morning when she had something serious on her mind, Furrball allowed his curiosity to override his biorhythm and found himself in the kitchen before he realized he'd even gotten out of bed.

"Café con leche?" the skunk smiled, offering him a mug.

Furrball smiled, taking the mug. "Was planning on going right back to bed after we talked, so I'd prefer not to," he asserted, causing Fifi to clench a fist. Taking a slow sip, the cat took her paw into his own, pulling his wife in close. "But I guess it's too late for that now, huh?"

"Guess so," Fifi replied leaning in to steal a kiss as the cat took another drink.

"Breakfast" was generally little more than a couple of random fruits chopped into a makeshift salad. Neither subscribed to the 'most important meal of the day' shtick. It probably wasn't a shtick after all, but neither really seemed to give a damn.

"You didn't have any coffee, did you?"

"Of course not_, mon cœur_. Just some juice."

"Alright."

The art of conversation had never Furrball's strong point in the first place, but it was much more pronounced in the early morning hours. Not wanting to be presumptuous, he fought the urge to ask her what was going on and silently resolved just to enjoy the moment. Unbeknownst to him, she had made a similar resolution about bringing up the subject and soon, the two were sprawled out across the table gazing into one another's eyes. For the briefest of moments, Fifi had forgotten how time-sensitive the news was, considering she'd been putting off telling him for so long and a scratching at the front door snapped her out of her trance. As the door opened, Fifi leapt t her feet, a sinking feeling in her gut for not having prepared her husband for the visitor, when a tattered form of a kitten limped inside, for once, his eyes matching in color as they were both blood red for once. The kitten's worn out appearance greatly contrasted the look of triumph beaming from his face. Forgetting her original cause for concern, the skunk swept her son up cradling him in her arms before he fell over.

"_Mon chaton_! What happened?" she demanded, a combination of horror and frustration in her voice, as this hadn't been the first time he'd come home in a similar condition, though it was never this bad.

"_Está bien, mami._" Sparkz assured, hugging back slightly. "_No problema_."

"How many times I have to tell you about staying out all night just fighting, kid?" Furrball exploded, getting up, nearly knocking the table over in the process.

_C'mere!_

Sparkz hung his head and slipped out of the safety of his mother's grip and approached his father, ears submissively drooping.

Kneeling down to inspect the boy's wounds, the cat could detect the scent of raccoon blood. Furrball gripped his son's face forcing Sparkz to look him in the eyes. The swelling wasn't so bad in either eye as far as he could tell.

"Just answer me one question." Furrball surprised the both of them, using English in such a stern tone.

"Did you win?"

Instantly the kitten's expression went from that of terror to that of triumph and he nodded his head, hugging his father tight, so happy he was that Furrball understood. Furrball hugged back, catching a glimpse of Fifi, who wore a crooked expression on her face, her heart warmed to witness the father/son moment, but disturbed by the circumstances surrounding it.

_Go on and clean yourself up, okay? You big enough to win a fight, you big enough to fix yourself up._

Sparkz looked at his father, wide-eyed.

_You gonna be a cat, go on, be a cat. You gonna be a kitten, don't get in no fights. _

Hugging his father again, Sparkz sprinted off to the bathroom to clean himself up.

"Why do you…"

_Shh_. Furrball put his finger on his wife's lips. "He'll be fine. There were just messin' around. Nothing deep. Let him play."

"Well…"

"We had something to talk about, didn't we?" the cat seized the moment, cutting Fifi off. She always wondered about his ability to compartmentalize emotions to the point where he could switch from one subject to the next without cross-emotional interference. She knew he was still worried about Sparkz, but he was able to put his immediate attention on her. It just seemed off for some reason. Always did. Shaking the feeling, she took a deep breath.

" They're coming over," she breathed. "Probably tomorrow-ish."

Furrball scratched his head, perplexed. "When you say, _they_…" he began.

She nodded.

"At the _same_ _time?_"

"Within a couple of hours so, yes."

"Is that even going to work. I though you said they weren't exactly…"  
>"In theory, that was kind of a long time go. They haven't spoken since."<p>

"Sparkz hasn't exactly…"

"I know."

"…"

"…"

"I mean, how do you feel about it?"

"If they start anything, we're kicking them out and they won't be able to come to the delivery room."

"Fine with me. Let's just get this over. We should really be happy they could come. Won't really have to worry about anything like that on my side, I guess."

Fifi could tell he had the best of intentions making that remark, but it seemed to have hurt him to even articulate it.

"I'm gonna check on Sparkz, okay? Don't even think about touching the dishes." And with that, he gave her a quick kiss before disappearing.

-_Veinte-_

"Wasn't even that long ago we were just in school, ya know?" Fowlmouth didn't have an inside voice. Thankfully, miniature golf was an outdoor activity so nobody seemed to mind. Among their ranks, few individuals had as outlandish and inaccurate theories associated with them than the rooster. Ever since he had started school there had been rumors that his uncle was a mob boss. That was the only one that had any real merit to it, but in actuality, this particular uncle had died in prison years before Fowlmouth had even been born, and had been a low level enforcer of little consequence. Because Fowlmouth had spent his younger days in Rochester, and later, of course LA, he'd never gotten to know that side of his family in Pittsburgh. Contrary to popular belief as well, he and Foghorn were not relatives either. This had been one of the rumors he'd always take personally. People expected him to act like and epitomize the Looney Tune, but Fowlmouth hated being typecast. The worst rumor, by far was the one that got the attention of federal agents after a murder investigation led to his apartment building. Even after he had been interviewed, cleared and the real perpetrator had been brought to justice, this only enhanced the rumors that he'd bought his way out of trouble with inheritance from his uncle and that he was a practicing hit man. Nothing could be further from the truth, but a boring truth is outshined by an interesting lie.

"So you got any names picked out, yet?"

"I wanted to choose something French, but since I named Sparkz, it's her call," the cat replied, nodding to Fifi.

"So what'd you pick?" Shirley chimed in, waiting for Fifi to take her first stroke. The ball cascaded past the others, stopping just short of the hole.

"'Sonia', I think," she answered, touching her belly.

"That's a pretty good name!" Fowlmouth piped, for some reason, not living up to his reputation of cursing every three syllables. "How'd you come up with it?"

"Oh, you know," she sang, dancing around the question. "We'll have to see her first, anyway."

"But you know, that's a good balance," Shirley offered. "Sparkz and Sonia. Sonia, Sparkz."

"'Sonia Sparkz' sounds like a rock star name." Furrball observed.

"Maybe I'll let her play in my band one day!" Fowlmouth laughed. Taking aim, the rooster missed the ball, knocking the blade clean off. Stifling a laugh, the girls looked away.

"D**nf***sunofab**** had to f****' slip outta my d*** hands whathef***was that s*** made out of anyway?" the rooster muttered under his breath, teeth gnashing as he tried to keep it under control. Putting his arm around Fowlmouth's shoulder, Furrball led him away from the others for a moment lest he start to really lose it.

As soon as the guys were out of sight, Fifi and Shirley shared a good laugh.

"He's in a band?" the skunk queried when she was fresh out of giggle.

Shirley shrugged. "He just curses really fast at the top of his lungs as a couple of guys play distorted guitars," she explained. "That wasn't him being polite just now. That was the fact that he only has the voice left to do that kind of thing on stage."

"So how are things with you two?"

Shirley shrugged. "It's going," she said, implying more. It wasn't that they weren't compatible. It was more that their quirks didn't compliment one another. There was just something "off" about them as a couple.

"Lemme ask you a question, Furrball," the rooster kept his eyes forward as they walked slowly to the counter.

"You ever want some that you thought was going to turn out one way and when you got it, you realized it wasn't what you expected it to be and maybe that's why you never had it in the first place because it wasn't for you?"

The cat thought for a moment, then shook his head. Anything he deemed worth pursuing he didn't regret having when he'd gotten it. And yet…

"Boxing wasn't exactly what I'd thought it'd be," he confessed before he could stop himself.

"So what'd you end up doing?"

The man at the front counter shook his head, retrieved the club and reluctantly handed Fowlmouth another.

"I'm still paying them out of my pocket for not showing up to the title fight," Furrball confessed.

"Really?"

"7. 4 years to go and I'm scot-free."

"Don't you make a nice chunk of change with your show?"

"The MGM Grand was kind of sold out."

"Ah."

"So if you're going to do anything, make sure you do it right."

"Yeah…"

_-Veintiún-_

"So what can we expect from your father and aunt being in the same room together?" Furrball kept his eyes on the road, not used to driving, period, let alone at night. Having an immediate distraction and reason to not look his wife in the eye in an environment where she couldn't leave or change the subject seemed the ideal place for such an inquiry.

"They probably won't be doing a whole lot of talking to each other, that's for sure."

The cat could see her expression from the reflection off of the windshield and decided not to press things further. He wasn't really in a position to understand family feuds and didn't want to pique his curiosity at his love's expense, so they drove for a while in silence.

Fifi looked over at her husband after a few miles. He was agonizing over the quiet for once. It wasn't something she had been used to. Though she didn't feel like talking, she didn't like seeing this expression on his face even more.

"I don't think Shirley and Fowlmouth will work out," she observed.

Furrball grinned. "She say something to you?"

"Sort of."

"He said something to me, too," he nodded, knowingly. "Too bad."

"Why don't you say something to Plucky?"

"C'mon, I don't want to get involved. Besides, Plucky's kind of … out there."

"And you're not?"

"It's a different kind of weird, though. And haven't they already tried that before?"

"She misses him."

"And he's better without her. Doesn't have to try to be something he'll never be when he's not around her."

"And what's that?"

"Decent."

"That's not fair."

"You've never been around him when he was drunk."

"That was a long time ago, though."

"Does that sort of thing go away?"

"…Not really."

"Huh."

"But if he really wanted to, it could. It definitely could."

"With the right motivation."

"And the right motivator."

"Yeah…"

"Fifi?"

"Hmm?"

"I think we'd better wait until she's born first."

_-End Chapter 6-_


	7. Gabby Jay

Chapter 7

_-Veintidos-_

LAX was never a place he could get used to. Pushy, impatient staff; demanding, clueless tourists; conniving, hungry cabbies, the place was a zoo; an accurate depiction of life outside the $20/hour parking garage. A few days' wait time had turned into a few months, hence the reason the cat was by his lonesome to fetch his in-laws. Fifi was due in less than a month and navigating the airport in her condition was more stress than it was worth. Of course, Sparkz, being the dutiful guardian he seemed to aspire to be, elected to attend to her in his absence.

Over the years, he'd grown basically immune to the paparazzi and sprinkles of fans approaching him in public. It went with the territory and he'd never really been a 'find' for stargazers even with his television serial well into its third season. He had hoped that today would be no different, though stepping into the arrivals waiting area; he immediately sensed that this wasn't to be the case this time around.

Just two days earlier, the most controversial episode of his show premiered on cable. He'd been told that there had been a huge backlash and an avalanche of letters regarding the content of the final scene hitting the studio. During the filming, Furrball hadn't noticed anything unusual about the scene; it'd just been routine for him to go in, act out the script and get ready for another episode, not thinking about the character he played; not considering the message the show had been sending out. He had a paycheck to make and he had no other way to make it. It was simply business, nothing more. By the number of dirty looks he received off the bat, he knew he might've made a bit of a miscalculation trusting the writers to decide his fate.

If there was one thing Furrball was a master at doing, it was focusing on a singular target, drowning out every distraction possible as he waited to complete his objective. Many fans of his would complain, he was told, about his unaccommodating nature. Some of his classmates lived for the attention of complete strangers, actually seeking out the fans and cameras whenever they went out. It wasn't that he was annoyed by the fame; he simply had no use for it.

Spying the eyes of the one who shot at him during his wedding day, followed closely by his only other relative that nearly killed him, the feline smiled, waving at them. All individuals in the skunks' general vicinity cheered in response, hoping against hope that he'd been waving to them. Furrball sighed, shaking his head. How fickle the masses can be. How very, very fickle.

Before long a dark streak flashed towards him, causing the cat to instinctively dodge at the last second grabbing the intruder by the throat, about to sink his claws in his assailant's neck. Just as he was about to commit to the act, the cat smirked vaguely recognizing his wife's favorite and only cousin, Rockee. True to the cat's perception of the teen skunk, the kid had adopted yet another subculture, this one being a bit more dangerous than the previous few as evidenced by the spinning wheels of the overturned skateboard lying a few feet from them.

"You'd have nailed it if you could see," the cat remarked, brushing some of Rockee's braids away. It was the only remnant of his 'former self' still visible in his goth dreads. The skunk managed an embarrassed grin as he slowly rose to his feet, probably used enough to the falling now to recover but not used enough to recover quickly. Furrball refrained from offering a helping paw, knowing full well the pride of a 17 year old.

He noted that his wife's aunt was touting a suitcase three sizes too large for her, while his father-in-law had little more than a briefcase in tow. Instinct kicked in and the cat hurried over to Inez to relieve her of her burden, nearly overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the luggage.

"Nice to see you," he gasped as he fought to deal with the weight. "Staying long?"

Inez grinned at the joke, much to the feline's surprise. He had suspected the emotional landscape of the wedding to have given her a contact high in their last interaction and that she felt no differently of him, now that the effect had worn off. He'd decided to test the waters early so as to not bring the conflict into his home.

"Strapping young men like yourself are required to lift luggage for the ladies, no?" she teased, flipping her hair back. Furrball had to bite his tongue before making a comment to Rockee about not being a strapping young man, as that would likely avalanche to the father-in-law, whom he didn't trust any more than his wife did.

"So," the elder skunk addressed his son-in-law, his Haitian accent as strong as ever. "Your ready-made family is ready to make spawn of your own?"

He chuckled to himself as if it were some private joke. The chuckle wasn't contagious.

"Hey, Furrball," his accent making the cat's name sound French. "Don't take it too hard. Ol' Jean Paul Le Fume has accepted you as family. Or I wouldn't have missed, no?" the skunk slapped the cat's back in a friendly manner; nearly causing Furrball to lose his balance and hit the deck. Had he not been a world-class athlete a few years back, the luggage would have crushed him.

Making it outside to the notorious horseshoe walkway, Jean Paul inhaled deeply and stretched for a bit.

"Well, this is where we part the ways, then," he announced going in the opposite direction of the others. Furrball was confused to say the least, looking to his other in-laws for answers that didn't come.

"What…?"

"I'll see you in a few. I've got something to do."

Furrball was in borderline panic mode. Had this been a typical action of Fifi's father? Why hadn't she warned him?

"Can I at least give you a ride…" the cat tried, noticing he was passing by the cab drivers without so much of a glance. The skunk turned to face him, that old expression on his face he'd noticed just before he had opened fire on the churchyard.

"Can you take this journey, chat?"

Furrball stopped in his tracks, his knees buckling from the luggage anyway.

Inez put her paw on the confused cat's shoulder coaxing him away.

"He's walking to her grave. Always does it when he arrives in California. It's the first thing he does," she explained.

Furrball looked at the skunk, wide-eyed. Fifi's mother's grave was about sixty miles from the airport. That would explain him travelling light. Nothing more was spoken about the subject for the entire trip home.

_-Veintitres-_

Stepping into the threshold, he finally lost his balance, tripping over the phone handset gracefully falling on his face cushioning the luggage from any real impact.

"I'm sorry, _mon minou_!" Fifi exclaimed as Furrball struggled to get up from under the luggage.

"Phone, love?" Furrball asked, maintaining his composure looking at the crushed technology.

"Ringing off the hook again. Couldn't help myself."

"Mute function, love."

Before she could retaliate, Fifi's eyes fixed upon her aunt.

"I'll take this to the guest room, then." Furrball said, excusing himself. For a few moments, the two simply watched to see what one another would do and who would break the silence. Fifi recalled that her aunt hadn't sounded overly enthusiastic upon receiving the news on the phone and the extended delay in arrival hadn't exactly helped Inez's chances to make great aunt of the year. She had since failed that with Sparkz, regardless, not even knowing the kitten's name.

Relenting, the elder skunkette stepped into the room and took a deep breath. "You don't look that pregnant to me." It was clearly meant as a compliment, though there was some real truth to it. Inez just happened to be the latest in a long line of individuals that had articulated that very observation. Fifi smiled, nevertheless, not needing an awkward home in the presence of family. She didn't want to be teaching her unborn child bad habits before she was even out of the womb. Before either could take a step closer to one another, a streak of wind brushed past and Inez found herself opposite a pint-sized bodyguard, scowling fiercely at her.

"Sparkz!" Fifi exclaimed a bit startled, though she should have been used to this by now. "You remember your great Aunt Inez, right?"

"No," the kitten continued staring at the invader.

"That's entirely my fault," Inez admitted, taking a knee to be level with the young cat.

Sparkz stared for a while longer until his expression finally softened and he sidestepped her to find Rockee staring down at his bandage through his massive amount of braids. The kitten stared right back at the older teen, marveling at the skunk's ridiculous haircut. The standoff was cut short when Sparkz caught a glimpse of the skateboard in Rockee's hand. The kitten waddled over to it curiously cocking his head like a puppy. Rockee grinned, offering it to him. Sparkz didn't accept it, but looked to Rockee for an explanation. The skunk put his arm around Sparkz's shoulder, coaxing him outdoors.

"I'll show you how," he said, closing the door behind him.

"So, can I get you some coffee? Tea?" Furrball spoke up reentering the room. "Hot water with honey and lemon for the wife?"

Fifi kissed her husband after nodding, a gesture that upset the cat slightly. While she had never been one to hide PSAs, it wasn't particularly typical for her to kiss him on the lips when he offered to give make her a hot beverage. Shrugging it off, he looked over to Inez.

"Won't you have a seat? I can make some Earl Grey, if you'd like."

"Please, my dear nephew," she responded. There was no hint of contempt in her voice, yet it was awkward coming out of her mouth, nevertheless.

His keen feline hearing picked up laughs and whoops from the cousins outside, but detected nothing, save the ticking of the grandfather clock from the den. Stirring the drinks as fast as possible, Furrball hurried to return, making a mental note that all the cooking knives were accounted for in the knife block before leaving.

"I must say, I have been to Sri Lanka and London and you brew a cup of tea that rivals even that of my late husband, God rest his soul."

Furrball scratched the back of his head, unsure of how to take the compliment. He didn't receive many from many besides his wife.

"Furrball is a cat of countless talents, _tante_," Fifi spoke a bit sharply, running her fingers through the cat's hair, inadvertently causing him to purr, then blush.

"He'd have to be to make it this far out from the gutter."

As he had made his peace with Fifi's aunt some time ago and was more objective about the situation, Furrball could tell the comment had been innocent in nature, actually agreeing with Fifi, rather than taking a cheap shot at his humble origins. Squeezing his wife's paw in his own, he spoke up quickly before Fifi said something she might have regretted later on.

"It was a storm drain, actually. Not a gutter."

There was a deafening silence in the room and for a moment even the clock stopped ticking, trying t gauge the tension in the air. Before long, the front door opened, releasing the tension and the three adults burst into laughter as Rockee and Sparkz entered, oblivious.

_-Veinticuatro-_

"She kicks like a mule. Like she just wants to get this over with."

"Can't really blame her. I can't wait to say hi. The suspense is killing me."

Fifi grinned, stroking her husband's bandaged tail.

"But not kicking you."

Furrball yawned settling down in her fluffy tail.

"True enough."

Before he could close his eyes, a thought penetrated the cat's psyche, causing him to sit up suddenly.

"What is it?" Fifi yawned.

"Why didn't you tell me about your dad's ritual?"

"I thought I had. Must've slipped my mind."

"Huh. Will he be showing up any time soon?"

"Well, he'll probably be drinking for a few days and then sober himself up before coming to visit so it could be about a week before he arrives."

"Even if you're in labor by then?"

"We've got about a month. It should be fine."

"Even so…"

"…"

Furrball noticed Fifi's body tense a bit and decided to let it go.

"You need to go see him, by the way."

"_Him_?"

"_Him_."

"I dunno if there's much I can do about it. It's his decision to live like that."

"Everyone else has given up on him and if you can't get through to him, neither one of them will ever be happy again. Can't you just try?"

"…For you. Not him."

"Them."

"Whatever."

"You're so cute when you're all pouty."

"Not so tight! Can't breaathee…"

_-Veintcinco-_

He dreaded hearing the elevator chime. Never being one to meddle, Furrball certainly had little to nothing invested in helping out someone with an appetite for self-destruction. He had zero tolerance and even less compassion for such behavior, given his humble upbringing and secretly hoped the duck would be too inebriated to realize someone was at his door. As if to crush his hopes, the door swung open after his third knock, two puffy, beady, bloodshot eyes trying to focus, without luck.

"Were you expecting me?" Furrball asked, trying to cut the tension in the standoff.

Plucky's mind finally seemed to register what was happening.

"What're you doin' here?" the duck picked up a gym bag near the door, stepping outside. Furrball eyed his old classmate suspiciously as he locked the door. His nose could detect rubbing alcohol, sweat-drenched cotton and old, worn out handwraps from the bag.

"I guess you're here for a visit, but I'm on my way to work right now," Plucky explained, hobbling down the hallway. The cat watched him for a moment, his mind starting to make mental connections. He knew that particular limp was indicative of recent head trauma. And the gym bag coupled with swollen eyes…

"Mind if I tag along?" Furrball offered, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Why not? I could use some advice, anyway," the duck replied, not looking back.

"Advice?" Furrball queried catching up with zero effort.

"Yeah," Plucky pressed the elevator button with some hesitation.

"Stop drinking," the cat replied, seeking to capitalize on the opportunity while the window was still opened. The green mallard looked at the cat, confused for a moment. That wasn't what he had in mind.

"Insurance dropped me after they found I spar for a living. That's just self-medicating."

Furrball stared wide-eyed as Plucky got into the elevator.

"Coming?"

"Y-yeah," the cat stuttered, stepping inside.

It took the cat a moment to really focus enough on his goal in the first place as it had been so long since he'd stepped into a boxing gym, that his head was spinning.

"So, you just go from gym to gym, sparring anyone that'll pay you?" he asked Plucky as the duck sat on the bench, having changed in the locker room.

"Well, I basically limit myself to up to Middleweight, ya know? I don' t think I could take a hook from a Cruiserweight," the duck answered taking out his wraps.

"Middleweight? That's like three classes above you!"

"What am I, Hamton? It's five! Help me with my wraps, huh?"

Furrball started winding the duck's knuckles, noticing he clearly had little technique, as his wrists and bones in his hand felt off, like he was hitting incorrectly and not resting enough. "No wonder you drink. How'd you even think to start doing this?"

Plucky slipped on his gloves before answering. "Well, you know, I've done anything I could to get a quick buck and I just saw an ad in the paper one day for a local champ that needed sparring partners, and I thought if I didn't die in the match, I could definitely use $1,500 a week, ya know?"

"I mean… where'd you even 'learn' how to box?"

"Learn to box? I never learned! They hire me because I can take a hit and keep getting up."

"…"

"C'mon. Don't you start judging me, too. Why're you even here? What do you care?"

"…she misses you, Plucky."

"Hey, duck! You're up!" the trainer called from the canvas. Furrball looked at the fighter standing in the ring. He might have passed for a middleweight, but was clearly starving himself to get to that weight. He looked like the kind of boxer with zero endurance and all power. The kind that relied on ending every fight within 3 rounds by knockout. His timing hadn't been good at all, knowing that Plucky would be thinking about Shirley as opposed to dodging his opponent's behemoth meat hooks.

To his credit, Plucky was quite slippery, dodging the man's jabs as if he were throwing them in slow motion. He could see a number of counter punch opportunities, but the duck never even looked as if he had any interest in throwing a punch. The first hook that connected with Plucky's gut, Furrball could tell he had no business being in the ring with him. Before he knew it, he was gripping the canvas in the duck's corner.

"Stay back!" he shouted before he could stop himself, "He's only aiming for your liver! Dodge left!"

A couple of fighters eyed Furrball suspiciously, but the cat was oblivious as the champ went for another liver blow, which Plucky was able to dodge, taking his advice.

"Yeah! Go for his heart. He's got no guard low!"

The duck hesitated to take this advice, not wanting to enrage the beast with more than a minute to go. As he tried dodging the same way he did last time, the duck didn't see the hook coming that connected with his temple, sending him straight to the canvas.

"Get up! That wasn' t even a third of his power in that hook. He didn't even rotate his waist! You can hit harder than that!"

Plucky was on his feet by the count of six, but the cobwebs hadn't shaken completely yet.

"Don't try to go after him, but don't run away! Use your jab and circle back around!"

The duck did as he was told, managing to stave off nearly enough time to beat the clock. Unfortunately, his disorientation led him to the ropes and nothing Furrball could say would stop the onslaught. He would have easily gone down to the second punch, but for whatever reason, his opponent thought it necessary to deliver four more blows as the duck was falling.

"Sonofabitch!" Furrball growled, rolling into the ring to check on Plucky. The mallard was out cold, with a bloody beak, but breathing.

"I got two more rounds if you wanna do somethin' about it," the champ taunted mussing the cat's hair.

Before he even realized what ad happened, Furrball had on a pair of 16 oz gloves, and was biting down on a mouthpiece as the trainers attending to Plucky, ringside. A decent sized crowd surrounded the ring, including a couple of magazine reporters who happened to be checking up on the champ's progress.

As the bell sounded, the cat let his 'learned instinct' take over and avoided the obvious choice of rushing in. he made his way around the ring in a figure eight and allowed his opponent to tire himself out, shadow boxing, as there was no way he'd have been quick enough to make contact. Before long, all of the dodging eventually trapped the cat in the corner, as his ring rust started to show. Before he could rectify this mistake, the champ went in for the kill, slamming and uppercut into the cat's ribcage. The sensation of the blow send chills up Furrball's spine, unleashing a longing he had denied for so long as he fell to the canvas.

Before the count could even begin, he was up to his feet, a deranged sparkle in his eye. This time, the cat allowed himself to be cornered, feigning injury to lure out the upper again, denying the champ the satisfaction of a second knockout blow as Furrball successfully attempted a jolt counter to the boxer's eye striking from the same angle the punch was coming from. Although it wasn't enough to knock him out with one blow, it was more than enough to cause a cut above his eye, stopping the match immediately.

"What gutter they drag you out of, kid? You don't cut the champ!" the manager spat running into the ring. Out of respect for the recovering duck, Furrball smiled, getting out of the ring.

"Sorry," he said, stretching. "I'm not the sparring type."

_-End Part 7-_


	8. Indigo

Chapter 8

_-Veintiseis-_

The contact high the feline had, stemming from the adrenaline rush was a clear indicator that his secret love affair with the sweet science wasn't quite unrequited. It was the only other job he'd ever had in his life and the cat found it decidedly more fulfilling than acting.

_Maybe in the next life…_ he smiled, coming up the street.

As soon as Furrball stepped onto his front porch, his blood ran cold. In his moment of levity, he'd forgotten his original objective. Meeting him at the front door, his wife wore a similar expression, confusing the feline as he ran up the steps.

"What's the matter?" he carried Fifi to the loveseat, setting her down gently.

She didn't respond, simply pointing to the answering machine. Furrball ignored the gesture, his immediate concern being for her stress level. He squeezed her gently until eventually her shivering stopped and they sat there quietly, not saying a word.

"Ya gotta have that one first before you start working on another!"

The couple looked up to find Furrball's old mentor standing in the doorway. The blue cat's eyes narrowed as he slowly rose to his feet.

"You get the message?" Sylvester queried, letting himself in.

Furrball shook his head, more curious than upset that Sylvester had taken such a liberty.

"The network's not picking up season four."

It took a moment for the words to register with the cat. He turned to Fifi to find her tearing up.

"Hey, shh," the feline purred wiping her tears away. She kissed his paw, causing him to sit back down on the small couch.

"Don't mind me or anything."  
>"I never did."<p>

"You not even curious as to why?"

"Why not?" Furrball wanted nothing more than to get his unwelcome guest to leave and knew that ignoring him would never work.

Sylvester grinned, finally getting his old pupil's attention as Furrball stood up.

"Studio's got a strict 'one show policy', as you know and they wanna take it in a new direction. Some sci-fi superhero thing. It happens."

"You in it?" Furrball showed no reaction to the news that he'd just lost his job; the price of years of living in a cardboard box.

"Kinda sorta. Details are sketchy at best. You know how it is. Anyways, doesn't look like you've wasted your money. You gonna be okay for awhile?"  
>"Yeah."<p>

"Alright, well don't be a stranger. If you need anything…" Something told the tuxedo cat to exit the premises without finishing the sentence.

As soon as the door closed, Furrball turned back to his wife.

"I mean, was that it?" he asked, not considering the gravity of the situation.

Fifi stared into her husband's eyes unable to find the clarity she was looking for. As soon as her hand touched her belly, the cat snapped back into reality. "It's not enough, is it?"

Fifi shook her head. They had been as frugal as possible, but he would eventually need a job to support two children, unless Fifi went back into acting, which would make her target #1 for psychotic fans and rabid photographers again.

Furrball found himself looking at his right paw. He'd subconsciously clenched it into a fist. Inspired, the cat pulled out his wallet finding a crumbled faded business card.

It was a long shot, but there wasn't much choice.

_-Veintisiete-_

"Another glass of water, sir?"

Furrball looked at the clock on the wall. Forty-five minutes. The waiter's tone indicating that perhaps his company just wasn't going to show.

Chicago hadn't changed much since he'd last been there years ago, not that he'd expected it to. At the risk of wasting the airfare, the cat started to get up.

"Going so soon?"

The cat turned around in time to dodge the hook to his cranium, but couldn't avoid the blow to his abdomen. The impact caused his knees to give way and he slumped over into the dog's grip. Marc Antony hoisted the feline by his throat back into his chair.

"Don't look at me like that," the dog chided taking his seat as the cat spluttered, gasping for air. "Forty-five minutes is nothing compared to four and a half years."

...

The bitter aroma of _Numb-in-a-Can_ assaulted the feline's senses, triggering a flood of memories, mental and physical, going so far as reminding his old wounds and scars to throb all of a sudden. Everything was still in its place; Marc Anthony was notoriously meticulous about making sure everything was the same each and every day. There was no real reason for that to have changed since Furrball had last graced the gym with his presence. A couple of boxers smiled and nodded at him, recognizing Furrball. The cat nodded back, as he followed the dog into his office. Sitting in the chair, he cringed hearing the Venetian blinds squeak as the coach closed them. This typically meant the beginning of a barking session. Looking away from the cat, the bulldog's toned softened abruptly, catching Furrball off guard.

"Is it even okay, you coming back?"

Furrball sighed. That question was twofold. On one paw, he had a family to worry about. In addition to that, there was the issue of why he hadn't gone through with the championship match in the first place. Details had been sketchy from the start and even those following his boxing career the closest from the beginning could not agree on what had actually transpired. Marc Anthony had never asked him before, nor had he even had the opportunity to do so.

"Why'd you tell him 'yes'?"

Furrball sighed. Apparently his coach knew more than he was letting on. Even though it was no longer relevant, he still felt the need to keep himself from articulating the situation. His "old friend", Beans had asked him to skip the fight. The champ had been a Chihuahua from one of Beans' rival gangs. Furrball had complied for some reason, never bothering to ask why. He simply took off and never looked back. Some things, most things, all things associated with the 317 were better left in the dark.

"You don't even know."

Furrball shrugged, wondering why he was unable to verbally articulate anything all of a sudden.

Marc Anthony frowned. "We're gonna have to probably go to a higher weight class. You've put on some height, haven't you?"

Furrball smiled, taking this as a sign that the bulldog had forgiven him.

"What're you smiling about? We're going with Bantamweight. What're you at now, maybe 100? That means we gotta put fifteen pounds of muscle on ya in four weeks."

_-Veinitocho-_

"Like, knock, knock!"

The tiny tabby peered suspiciously through the peephole. Recognizing his mother's friend, he cautiously opened the door, double-checking that she was alone. He was shocked to find a grayish coyote with her, clutching a tablet. The kitten hissed at Calamity, causing the scientist to chuckle slightly.

"Sparkz, that's no way to treat your father's oldest friend." Fifi scolded from the couch. "Come on in, guys!"

…

"So you're due in, what, three weeks and his fight is in two?"

"It's just as well," Fifi explained. "I don't think I could handle seeing him getting hit in the first place."

"But he's left you to go train so you won't be able to see him when you need him the most! I don't like it."

"I'm hardly having to fend for myself." Fifi laughed. "Sparkz is an amazing attendant, and Calamity has agreed to sleep on the couch for a couple of weeks while Furrball's in Chicago."

Shirley looked at the coyote in shock. He'd obviously failed to mention that as they met by chance on the way there. Not that he could say anything in the first place. Calamity smiled sheepishly, nodding.

"Why'd you let him do this, though? You're a young family. What if something were to happen to him?"

Fifi looked at her feet for a moment, considering her friend's words. She hadn't put up any real protest when Furrball had declared his intentions before he'd left.

"I think," she began, looking at Sparkz as she felt her daughter kicking. "It's because Furrball never makes decisions. Not without having the best intentions." She struggled to her feet, Sparkz quick to assist, making it before the duck or coyote.

"I don't want to see him hurt, but more than anything it's his mental state I'm worried about, you know?" she looked her friend in the eye before walking to the window. "If I told him, "no", what would he do to make money? Nothing he wanted to do. Every time I wanted to smile I would ask him something about his days as a boxer and he'd get excited go on and on about training and how he felt and what random thoughts came into his head during a match, and there was this spark he had in his eyes, you know?" Fifi sighed. "He's never even talked about acting. I married a fighter. I knew what he was before I said, 'I do'. How can I say 'I don't' when he needs me to say something else?"

Calamity sniffled a bit.

"He's probably got enough stress going through his mind without me not supporting him every step of the way. Besides, not just anyone could make a living as a boxer, so the few that can… the normal rules don't apply. That doesn't mean I'm not concerned. Of course I am. But I love him enough to know when to keep it to myself."

Fifi smiled as she made her way back to the couch. "Sparkz, will you make us some of your famous tea, please?"

The kitten sprinted off to the kitchen, eager to fulfill the request. Before long, Calamity pointed in that direction, then to himself.

"Of course," Fifi smiled as Calamity went to assist Sparkz. Even with their odd history, there was no real awkwardness to speak of.

It was a rather curious sight, watching the one-pawed wonder making a pot of tea. Calamity stood in the doorway for a bit, watching Sparkz opening random cupboards in search of the final ingredient. From the looks of the contents on the counter, the coyote suspected he was looking for honey.

Before long, the kitten looked over his shoulder at Calamity and motioned to the top cupboards he couldn't reach. The mute scientist happily obliged, finding the honey on his second try, impressing the feisty young feline. Sparkz stirred the tea in silence, happy that his new 'assistant' wasn't a mindless babbler.

_-Veintinueve-_

"Time!"

Even though he'd been training nine straight hours, it was as if he hadn't even heard his trainer, as the cat continued to pummel the heavy bag. Fifty million hits before his comeback bout…that was the goal. It wasn't an arbitrary number, either. It would take at least that many hits for the cat's knuckles to be

calloused and seasoned enough to bring his punches back to the level that ended all his fights in two rounds or less. And in a higher weight class, anything less than that would be suicide.

"Stop it, idiot!"

Marc Anthony pried his young charge away from the heavy bag, holding him until he felt the energy drain from the cat's body.

"Am I gonna have to lock you in my office again so you won't pull another late night session, kid?"

Furrball had spent his entire time in the gym since he'd been back I Chicago, not even stepping out to get some fresh air. The feline was relentlessly obsessed with his training so he could provide for his family. Marc Anthony knew the cat's desperation was his source of strength. But it was a double-edged sword as it was most difficult to stop the cat from overdoing it and he needed him to be rested up enough to go into his first match.

"C'mon, kid, get cleaned up. You still have to gain a few more pounds so the steak's on me, tonight, okay?"

Collapsing on the canvas Furrball nodded. It wasn't as if he were in any position to protest. Besides, having been raised by the streets, one indomitable rule was to never pass up a free meal.

In the shower Furrball, could see his knuckles, particularly on his left paw had turned a reddish purple, a clear sign that he'd been taking it a bit too hard on himself. Gritting his teeth, he tried to put his mind elsewhere, knowing over-thinking things would make him second-guess himself, which was the last thing he needed. Breathing in, his mind started to wander, turning to Fifi, then Sparkz and his unborn child. Punching the tile, the cat yowled in pain knowing full well what horrible consequences thinking of his family would do to his reaction time.

"That's why you're training in Chicago, idiot!"

Furrball looked around, taking a moment to realize he had just shouted at himself, and in English, no less. A far cry from how things were last time he was in the ring. That fear in the back of his head was getting harder and harder to ignore, which was why he trained himself beyond the point of exhaustion every day… the fear of having something to lose.

"But that's also what makes you dangerous. Unstoppable, even." He couldn't argue with his own logic on that front. In the past, he won because he had nothing better to do; he was just as fine with losing. Now, he didn't have the option to lose. The stakes were too high. That made him dangerous. More dangerous than before.

…

"Eat up, already. You can't get a better baseball steak in the world than this."

Marc Anthony could tell his hungry young charge had it bad. As much as he loved that the intense focus never left his prospect's eyes, he knew the cat's mind must have been rolling a million miles a minute to keep his priorities in line and his focus on the task at hand.

"You know, you're gonna turn the Bantamweight class into the new Middleweight, right?"

Furrball came out of his trance, and took a deep breath. The steak smelled like a barbeque in Heaven ought to smell like. Taking a generous slice, he couldn't stop himself from thoroughly enjoying it.

"That good, eh?" Marc Anthony grinned. The cat nodded, eagerly cutting another slice.

"Ya know, there was this Korean general back in the days before computers and stuff," the dog began, taking a helping of mashed potatoes. "He was notorious for camping his army opposite a river or against a mountain. Tactically stupid, because, how you gonna retreat if there's no escape route, right?"  
>Furrball thought about it for a moment. Before Marc Anthony could continue, he smiled.<p>

"There's no retreat," he said, unceremoniously breaking his typical silence with the canine, "only one place to go."

"Right through 'em." Marc Anthony concluded, showing no shock or awe at hearing Furrball's voice for what might have been the first time.

-_Treinta_-

The minute the seat belt light turned off to the ominous chime, Furrball was on his feet rushing to the front of the plane. The plaster from the fight doctor still on his face, the cat sprinted past onlookers, reporters, travelers and others to the cabstand. Approaching the fastest looking taxi he could find, the cat hopped into the front seat.

"Cedars Sinai, please," he huffed, trying to catch his breath from the run.

"The hospital, you mean?" the cabbie seemed nonchalant.

"Yes. As fast as you can." The cat's desperation was palpable.

"Really?"

"Really."

"I get stopped for speeding, you gonna pay the ticket?"

"Yeah. Please just get me there. I have cash."

"Whatever you say, boss!"

As the cabbie squealed his tires, Furrball held on tight to whatever he could, knowing he'd picked the right taxi to get to the medical center on time. The past twelve hours had been a blur. His debut match as a bantamweight hadn't exactly gone according to plan.

Having barely made the weight, he'd been exhausted with a fractured wrist. Marc Anthony had it concealed by taping it tightly, but this had otherwise rendered his right fist useless against an opponent who was starving himself just to make the weight and would have naturally fought, at the very least, as a welterweight. The match went five rounds; the longest Furrball had ever been in a professional fight before the referee stopped the bout, declaring him the winner by TKO. He'd caused a cut above the other's right eye in the second round and focused on it until the trainer couldn't stop the bleeding. Not his proudest moment, but he wasn't fighting for the aesthetic beauty.

"What's the rush, guvna?"

The cat blinked, glancing at the cabbie. "Who?"

The man grinned sheepishly, looking away. "Always wanted to say that, is all."

"Oh." Furrball, as per usual was in no mood to talk, though the anticipation of the current events weighed so heavily on him that it was a distinct possibility that his head might explode, should he remain silent.

"She's in labor."

"Your girlfriend?"

"Wife."

"Congrats. How long?"

"They'd taken her to the hospital two hours before I called last night."

"Where were you?"

"In the office." For whatever reason, the cat felt uncomfortable explaining he had been in the locker room, immediately following the match when Shirley picked up after he called.

"How many hours now?"

"If she hasn't delivered, maybe 14?"

"You think she's waiting for you?"

"Hope not."

"Yeah right."

"Yeah…" But still, Furrball hated the idea of his wife enduring the pain for his sake. "Can you take a couple of shortcuts?"

-Treinta y Uno-

The uncanny, eerie cadence of cat claws on linoleum tile gradually quickened as the feline turned the corner to the appropriate hall. Making his way past the nurse's station, catching the backend of the conversation, he strained to hear the hushed voices as they lowered upon his presence.

"I mean, what were they thinking?"

"She's never gonna have a normal life. Even for one of _them_."

"She's going to be confused on so many levels."

"It's just irresponsible. Maybe they should've just adopted again or someth-"

The chattering from the peanut gallery stopped the moment they felt the cold eyes of the hunter on them, his rage nearly clouding his judgment. Moving on his way, he was aware that his priorities were currently more important as he continued, rounding the corner to find a small crowd gathered around a glass wall, awaiting the revealing. Finding his mark off to the side somewhat isolated from the rest, save the sleeping gray kitten in his paws, the visitor went in for the kill, his voice so deep that only his intended target could hear or even understand him.

_You seen the wife yet?_

The younger cat's ears didn't even perk, giving the stranger the initial impression that he couldn't understan-

_Doc said they were stitching her up, first. Had her under some kind of pain killer._

_ She gonna be okay?_

_ Yeah._

_ You know, you and your dad… you're the only ones in our family to even have kids._

_Huh..."our"…?_

Before Furrball could turn around as the one other crept away, the door opened to reveal the maternity nurse, expertly carrying a petite bundle in her arms. Wondering if he'd been hallucinating that conversation, he gently nudged his son awake to share in the moment…the poor kid hadn't had a decent night's sleep since he'd left a month ago. Sparkz instantly hopped to his feet running up to the edge trying in vain to catch a glimpse of his baby sister. Furrball gently scooped him up, raising him just in time to seethe nurse pull down the sheet, revealing young Sonia Fuego-le Fume to the world.

"Her eyes are already opened," Furrball whispered to no one in particular.

"Because she couldn't wait to see you."

Furrball turned to find Fifi, weakened though she was, beaming with love and pride from her wheelchair. Her father, standing above the two, looked away, trying to hide his smile as they kissed, Fifi not even noticing the fresh scrapes and scars on her husband's face.

"She gots red eyes!" Sparkz exclaimed. He turned to his parents eagerly. "I gots a red eye!"

"That usually goes away after a few hours, Sparkz," Fifi explained, not wanting the kitten's hopes to get too high too early. "I think her eyes are supposed to be green."

"I gots a green eye, too!" Sparkz piped, looking back at his sister.

Sonia's little indigo limbs seemed to be going all over the place. Her tail, neither thick nor thin, fluttering about, was at last twice the length of her body, though her stripe was little more than a slightly lighter shade of fur down the middle. It looked as if someone had used a drop of sky blue to mix in with her ivory fur on her underside. She had her mother's rounded ears, and her father's cheeks. Her tiny pink nose glistened in the light and though her eyes had yet to uncross, she seemed to be focusing on them, reaching out to them, even.

"Adorable."

It was unclear who said it, but the sentiment was clearly shared by all present.

-_End Part 8-_

"_Win, Rocky, win."_


	9. Twisting Tigers

Chapter 9

-Treinta y dos-

"Right. I'll leave you two to discuss your options then."

They had known this might have been the situation long before Sonia was born. They had discovered the outcomes of other such hybrids that had and didn't have the procedure done via newsgroups and websites. There was a moral dilemma that could not be ignored, as simple as the choice seemed. As confusing as life would be from the start for Sonia, making this particular choice for her would further complicate her initial identity even further.

The problem was ***obviously*** Sonia's musk glands. It had basically been a 33% chance of this happening. She would have complete control over it, she would have zero control, or it would be a nonfactor. Sonia's problem was that she would never be able to control ***it***. Any emotional stimuli positive or negative would set ***it*** off, and she'd have no ability to consciously stop it. The options were simple. Do something about it, in the form of a half hour surgery or do nothing about it.

"You're not worried this'll make her think she's more…" Furrball couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"Feline?" Fifi spoke up. "Not really."

"What's it like for you guys if you decide…well, doing what you did?"

"The species is very… shall we say, 'clan-ish'. They don't take kindly to anyone getting the surgery, and they really don't like interspecies relationships.

"That's like two strikes against you!"

"Why do you think we don't have any skunk friends?"

Furrball frowned. She'd articulated it so plainly that it seemed as if it were common knowledge that he was too ignorant to be privy to.

"What about cats?"

"Excuse me?"

"What do cats generally have to say about mixing?"

Furrball thought about it for a minute and shrugged.

"Dunno."

"You don't know?"

"We don't have too many cat friends either."

"Do you care?"

"About what?"

"What they think?"

"No. And you?"

"No."

"But this isn't about us. It's about her. Would she want us to make this decision for her before she was old enough to even have a choice?"

"We don't have *it* for fun, flaunting it like a badge of honor or something. Maybe Pepe does. He certainly set us back 100 years with his cartoons. But really, it's just a deterrent. Besides, she's got all the defense she needs right there." Fifi nodded to Sparkz, who had his sister wrapped in his arms, the siblings sleeping soundly. The smell didn't affect the kitten in the least bit.

"I say we go ahead and do it then. I'll take the blame later if she ever asks about it." Furrball stretched his legs wandering over to his children.

"I'd blame it on you anyway." Fifi chided, rolling her wheelchair to the door, a mischievous look on her face.

-Treinta y tres-

Being new to having a newborn at the house, Furrball was reluctant to return to the 'office' too soon. He had adapted well to learning all the tasks that went with having a baby. Thankfully, given his natural sleep pattern, he had no problem checking on the crib when Sonia cried at night. In this particular instance, he wasn't the first to arrive.

_Shh._

It was the most precious thing he had ever seen in his life. Sparkz had Sonia resting, draped over his shoulder gently bouncing her on his knee, Sonia's extra long tail wrapped around the two of them. Unable to do anything else, Furrball leaned against the doorway watching the two as Sonia's eyes eventually closed and Sparkz set her back in her crib. As Furrball turned to leave, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that his son's pillow was laying against the corner of the room, indicating that he had no intentions of wandering out tonight, nor had he any inkling to leave his baby sister.

Everybody on a budget is guilty of this at one time or another; punching the numbers into the calculator a few times more to see if the figures change. Fifi sighed, looking out of the window. Sparkz was 'grown' when they had gotten him, thus there was little financial strain from having him. Sonia, on the other paw, well, raising a baby to be strong and healthy was expensive, especially one with such specific, delicate needs.

The moment he walked in the room, the look on her face said more than enough. Someone had to get back to work.

"Agency said the DVD deal fell through." Furrball sighed, crouching into a pushup stance at his wife's feet. "Too much of a niche audience or something." Fifi sat cross-legged on her husband's back as he began his daily routine.

"Too few seasons for anyone to pick it up for syndication too, huh?" she observed.

"Yeah," he replied, starting to break a sweat. "No royalties to look forward to."

"We can manage."

"We can. But it's not fair to them, just to manage."

"So what're we going to do?"

"We gotta make some sacrifices. Trust each other. _No matter what_."

"No matter what." Fifi repeated in English, causing her husband to grin. "So then you're going back to the office soon?"

"Tomorrow." Furrball said, a hint of sadness on his tongue. "Marc Anthony says something big came up. We need big. One big one is all we really need, ya know?"

"Yeah."

"You gonna be okay with the kids?"

"You gonna be okay in the ring?"

"I'll try."

"Me too."

-Treinta y cuatro-

"92 seconds, kid! That's the most it's gonna take him to make the ref stop the fight! Why're draggin' your feet like a sloth? On your toes! Faster! Faster!"

To ascertain that Marc Anthony was riled up for the next fight would be something of an understatement. Whereas in the past, he was worried about his number one prospect overdoing it, it seemed as if he were intentionally training Furrball beyond the point of exhaustion before he even started working on the cat's technique. It was an old method rarely ever utilized in the present because of the horrible strain it puts on the body. Generally, too much of said training would drop years off a prospective career. But again, special cases and opportunities call for special exceptions, and that was indeed the situation in this instance.

This sort of thing wasn't as uncommon as one would think. A promising prospect with enough media hype or attention (particularly a crossover success) would generally bring high levels of the right attention, thus upping the sponsorships, ticket sales, advertising prices and the purse. Cal Piyn, the ruthless, undefeated welterweight champion was in need of a last minute opponent. The challenger had fractured his wrist in a sparring match with just over three weeks to the fight date. Inevitably, there was no one in the welterweight division that could garner more instant attention and international interest to the fight than Furrball.

Mr. Piyn, himself was very much a dark shadow of Furrball. An alley cat himself; everything he'd ever had in life he'd taken with his own paws. Word was he'd spent three years in a shelter, the only cat amongst dogs and walked out one night the alpha male. He spent the majority of his time outside as a hired gun, basically until he decided he could make more money fighting for himself and threw his hat into the ring. In his 65 bouts, he had 65 wins. All by K.O., none making it past round 3. Seven fighters retired after a match with him and three had died in the ring or shortly after, too foolish to stay down. Because a match against him was deemed an automatic win, the media had all but lost interest in him and the pressure to get these two in the ring had been so great that the day Furrball had registered in the welterweight division, sports writers started doing features on the inevitable showdown.

"You can't even lace up his damn boots yet! You ain't qualified to hold his spit bucket! Faster!" Marc Anthony knew it was more than a long shot… should Furrball actually survive the training (8 weeks packed into 16 days) he'd still have to survive in the ring. While Piyn had never bragged about his accomplishments in the ring, the day the match had been announced, he went on record saying he would offer flowers to Furrball's wake.

"Time, kid! Hit the showers."

The blue cat hobbled off, stumbling into some equipment as he made his way to the locker room, not bothering to take of his gloves.

"He's gonna have stress fractures on his heels, you keep working him like that."

Marc Anthony smirked looking over at Bernie. He was the only columnist he'd ever allow in the gym. Bernie was objective… as objective as a sports writer could be, so he could be tolerated for the most part.

"I'd take it easier on him, but when I did, if he had anything at all left, he'd spent the rest of the night training rather than sleeping."

"He's obsessed."

"He's dangerous. I just need him to be more dangerous that Cal."

"That's a shot in the dark, Marc."

"That's all he needs. It all comes down to one shot in the dark."

The reporter looked at the aging bulldog. "Hmm?"

"His eyes." Marc Anthony indicated making a gesture. "Cal Piyn is going to destroy at least one of his retinas no matter what. And when Furrball's got two raccoon eyes all bloodshot and puffing up, he won't be able to see the punches coming."

"But he'll feel it, eh?"

"And that's when it'll happen. Furrball's been hit so hard before. I don't think Cal has."

"A shot in the dark, eh?"

"Yeah."

"You look like…hell."

It was Meredith's standard greeting. She'd been hired by Marc Anthony to give the cat a massage each day after training. She was one of the best in the business. Always came when Furrball was in that mode when he was more exhausted than asleep and generally oblivious to his treatment. He might have protested the treatment, considering he was a married cat, but since he was never aware and Meredith was all business anyway, he'd never even knew she was there. Only knew that when he woke up, he felt well enough to star training again.

Stan: Hi everybody and welcome back to and our webcasted press conference for Piyn vs. Fuego-Torres for the UWBC Welterweight Championship, brought to you by Smikkan's Chikins. Crackalacking goodness. That's Smikkan's! I'm your host Stan Rielslin and with me as always is my colleague, Sir Albert Janetty.

Albert: Cheers.

Stan: We are joined in the studio by none other than street cat turned kitten actor turned fighter turned father, Furrball Fuego-Torres and his legendary trainer, Mr. Marc Anthony.

Albert: And of course the champion, undefeated in sixty-plus fights, Cal Piyn and his trainer, Gargos Lathan.

Stan: Gentlecats, good to have you here.

Cal: No problem.

Furrball: Mm.

Stan: So why don't we cut to the chase? Furrball, Everybody and their mother is talking about how irresponsible it is to your family, you taking this fight at such short notice and potentially getting permanently injured as a result. Since we have you in here, can I ask, why did you even return to the ring?

Furrball: Why not?

Stan: Why not what?

Furrball: Why not get paid for what you were born to do?

Albert: What, boxing?

Furrball: Fight. Survive. Get hit. Get up. Do it again the next day.

Stan: So this has nothing to do with your newborn? Congratulations by the way.

Furrball: She deserves better than what I could give her not doing what I can.

Albert: Cal, how do you feel about it?

Cal: 'E's selfish, ya know? You selfish, Furb.

Stan: Selfish?

Cal: He know better than to get in the ring with me. You been around the block. You know me. And if you don't, you stupid getting into this.

Marc Anthony: Now just because he chose not to exploit his environment just to get ahead doesn't make him any less dangerous in the ring, kid.

Cal: Ain't nobody talkin' to you, Old Yeller. Furb, you know this, don't you? 65 victims in the ring. How many on the outside?

…

Cal: Dat's right. He scared. He should be, too.

Gargos: It's a noble gesture, showing up to the fight to pick up that paycheck, knowing it'll be his last.

Stan: Last paycheck?

Cal: Last day on Earth. You know you gonna die in under two rounds right? Ain't gonna be no knockout blow. You too small for my division. Last flyweight thought he had a chance in my class, what happened to him?

Albert: He died in the first round.

Cal: Dat's right. What about the one before that?

Stan: Died in the second round.

Cal: One before that?

Albert: Died in the… third.

Cal: You think it's a coincidence only flyweights tryin' ta play the welterweight game go straight to the morgue? I never killed no welterweight in a fight. A real welterweight. And you go what, three weeks? I don't even want you in this fight. Don't feel right.

Stan: Furrball has something those other three didn't have though, God rest their souls.

Cal: Yeah, an old ass dog drooling over the dollar signs from his cut. Look at his ass. Furb couldn't even walk straight to the table. Why you lettin' everyone always exploit you like this, cat?

Furrball: Do you know your father?

Cal: What?

Furrball: Your f-f-f-father.

Cal: Naw. You?

Furrball: Saw him once. Wish I hadn't.

Cal: Your point?

Furrball: My kids… th-th-they're not going through that.

Cal: So you quittin this match then? That's good. Go back to TV shows or something. Do some cat food commercials. Whatever.

Furrball: You're not killing me.

Cal: Not if you don't show up. I ain't comin' after you. Take care of yo family. Say hi to your wife.

Furrball: N-n-no. You misunderstand. I'm taking your spot.

Cal: You 'bout to make me want to kill your ass.

Furrball: Take your best shot. It's not gonna be enough.

Cal: Sounds like a challenge to me.

Furrball: Guess it is.

Stan: We'll be right back.

-Treinta y cinco-

_Chut mon enfant  
>Il est temps au lit<br>Je vais envoyer doux rêves  
>Dans ta tête<br>Quand vous vous réveillez  
>Je serai juste ici<br>Juste à temps pour apaiser votre peur_

As Fifi got to the last line, Sonia had already drifted off to sleep in her arms. Her tail had gotten fluffier by the day and her green eyes brighter and more aware. She was a sponge, soaking up all of her surroundings and had developed a fondness for her protective brother, often crying when he was out of the room.

Sparkz sat at the foot of the rocking chair on his favorite pillow his green eye on Sonia and red on his mother.

"Can you sing it again in my speak, mami?"

Fifi gently laid Sonia in her crib tucking her in softly.

She sat back down, and rustled Sparkz's hair causing him to purr. Ever since Sonia came into the world, he was a completely different feline. Warmer. She kissed him on the forehead and scratched behind his ear.

Hush my child

It is time for bed

I'll send sweet dreams

In your head

When you wake

I'll be right here

Just in time to quell your fear

Surely as her magic had worked on Sonia, Sparkz was fast asleep himself. Though she tried to fight it herself, the skunk soon found herself in a similar state of slumber, the last thought on her mind nearly guaranteeing a sad dream...

"Wait, you sure about that?...Uh huh…Uh huh…Oh…Well I'll be damned. Can't imagine he'll like that news… Don't worry. I'm not gonna tell him…Kay… see ya in Vegas… Okay. Bye."

It wasn't difficult to discern how upset Marc Anthony was from the news. It was another thing entirely to inquire as to why. Everyone around him held their breath in anticipation that he might for once just come clean.

"You believe that, Shepp?" The coach growled to a passing cruiserweight. "Guess who's fighting in the co-main event, just ridin' on our boy's coattails?"

"No idea, boss."

Marc Anthony sucked his teeth. "The Runt."

In his quest to develop a stone-hard jab with the flexibility and speed of a blade of grass, Furrball was physically incapable of unclenching his fist and the tendons in his arm had stiffened. The entire camp agreed that with less than four days until the fight, they couldn't check him into a clinic, so a sports spa was the only viable option.

Despite his being beyond the point of exhaustion, they still deemed it necessary to administer muscle relaxers to the cat as he sat in the sauna awaiting the resident masseuse. He had long since drifted off into a dreamless sleep, as was the plan for softening the knots in his muscles. For the one time he had his defenses down, she seized the opportunity most unexpectedly, slipping in the room with her silent cohort, locking the door from the inside.

It was almost too easy. In fact it was. No one would think her to be out of place, after all, her athletic, attractive body made to frequent such locations. Finding that he was completely out of it, she grinned, ear to ear, as her photographer got ready for the predatory photo shoot. Given the angles and the steam from the room, it would appear more that he was lost in the moment rather than unaware of the situation altogether as she posed 'with' him, smiling at the camera. By the time he even came to just in time for the masseur to show up, they were long gone.

Outside the spa, the pink skunk dialed a number as she reviewed the footage on the camera.

"Johnny? … Yeah, it's me. I think we're back in business."

-End Part 9-


End file.
